Salvation
by amidoh
Summary: Nothing ever lasts forever, and both knew it - but neither is ready to give up the fight just yet. Starscream x Perceptor slash, sequel to Until the Dream Ends.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognise is property of Hasbro/Takara. I am merely playing for my own amusement.

**Author Note: **This is a direct sequel to _Until the Dream Ends_. While it will make sense as a stand-alone, it will frequently reference to events and attitudes from its prequel - just to avoid confusion.

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**Salvation**

**Chapter 1**

An entire stellar cycle had passed like a dream.

Earth, unlike Cybertron, had set of meteorological phenomena known to the sentient indigenous population as 'seasons'. Perceptor had become Starscream's in the late spring, and, just over a stellar cycle later, the days had drawn in and the nights become longer, the light during the daytime was paler, the Autobots' human allies complained of the cold, and the clouds in the sky blotted out the sun and unleashed rain more regularly than they had.

Perceptor was quite partial to the rain washing over his chassis, running down the smooth metal and dripping off stark edges. Starscream hated it.

Naturally, this had meant that their secret meets were even harder to plan. Starscream would only call for Perceptor when he was upset, in a dire mood with Megatron, had recently been humiliated in front of the Decepticons or had excess energy to burn off. Usually they would make the trek to some secluded nature reserve to avoid detection by satellites, but, if the weather was against them, Starscream was very particular about being somewhere indoors, and that usually meant they had to search for some desolate abandoned factory or the like.

Despite the increased danger this added, as discovery by humans was thrown into the risk pool, Starscream refused to negotiate on this; he would not spend any longer in the rain than was absolutely necessary, and, whenever the possibility of being found was pointed out to him, he would just lick his lips in a hungry, feral way and whisper about how much more fun _that_ would be, which never failed to send shivers through his partner's infrastructure.

No matter how many times Perceptor asked, Starscream refused to elaborate quite why he hated the feel of rain or the similar phenomena such as hail and snow so much. He would just snarl threateningly, or silence the question with a fierce kiss.

Perhaps it was to do with his extreme haphephobia, though that was certainly improving. Finally, Starscream could stomach having Perceptor instigate a contact without flinching away. Finally, Perceptor could return the caresses without having his partner tense and tremble – not in pleasure but in fear – beneath him. As long as he gave sufficient warning and did not take the seeker by surprise, there would be no wince, no pulling away.

But Starscream could not stand the sensation of rain splashing down onto him; it made him cringe.

Remarkably, though, neither had been caught or even suspected of consorting with a member of the enemy faction. Perceptor had done his very best to disappear into the background, and he had succeeded. His comrades barely seemed to notice him nowadays; his fame after his ordeal as a Decepticon prisoner had been unwanted and, thankfully, short-lived. As a natural recluse, he had had no trouble melding into the background again, pretending to be absorbed with his work.

On the other hand, Starscream seemed to have gone out of his way to draw attention to himself, to belittle Megatron, to have his leader's wrath visited upon him. Perversely, though he often came with fresh wounds from having been the wrong side of the unforgiving Decepticon commander's fist, his faction did not seem to suspect that he was deviating from protocol. Perhaps it was because they were so used to his vying for power that this was not at all out of the ordinary and they had no reason to think anything was going on.

The communicators had helped a lot, of course. Thinking to re-use the devices had been a stroke of brilliance on Starscream's part.

Hook had designed them well, using a mixture of his own intricate, perfectionist prowess at engineering and construction and the fundamentals of bond theory. Quite successfully, he had simulated a faint and incomplete version of the connection between two joined partners, though the impulses were sent in language rather than emotion. What's more, as custom-built components, they were not recognisable as communication devices to Autobot medics, as well Perceptor knew.

He had almost had trouble with his at first. Ratchet, caring and worried about the possible ways he had been dealing with the stress of post-trauma, had called him in for an overhaul. While going through internal circuitry, he had found the communicator and asked what it was.

Thinking quickly, Perceptor had used Starscream's initial response, claiming it was a pain-numbing device. A comprehending smile crossed Ratchet's face as the ambulance-transformer told the microscope that he was a genius indeed before finishing his examination.

Starscream would call for Perceptor mostly when everything was not right with the world through his jaded optics. It would not be far wrong to say that Perceptor occasionally felt as though he was only being used as something to take the Decepticon's mind off less pleasant matters.

Even though they had met many times, had engaged in the most intimate acts of trust and love many times, Perceptor was still not entirely at ease with his mate. It was hard to forget the monstrosities that Starscream was capable of; even now, over half an Earth year later, Perceptor's torso still sometimes tingled unpleasantly along scar lines that were not visible on his chassis. Along wounds from an energon whip that had long ago healed. Even now, sometimes, he would be woken from recharge to sit bolt upright, the gears in his limbs locked tense and quivering, thinking he could see the crackling line being drawn back by a shadowy figure, thinking he could hear cruel laughter echoing in the distance.

It was all in his mind, he told himself, but he knew it was not something that would be forgotten for a long time yet.

His unease was what had urged him to leave the bomb he had installed in Starscream's side well alone – just in case. He had a feeling that the seeker had forgotten about it, for it was never mentioned and Starscream showed no fear in his advances. Advances which were undeniable, dominating and somehow still comfortable and a result of almost every one of their secret meetings.

But then, sometimes, rarely, Starscream would not instigate a spark-merging or even any sort of physical contact. Sometimes, when he was far worse off than usual, with strips of metal hanging off him, or in a bout of severe depression, he would seek the company merely to talk.

Perceptor liked those times the best. No matter how good Starscream could make him feel, with those talented fingers running all over his exostructure, there was something indescribable about just sitting and listening to the problems and thought processes of someone who most others, of both factions, deemed untouchable.

Not only that, but when Perceptor responded in a way that earned Starscream's approval, the seeker would show it by capturing his bondmate's lips in a kiss – not rough or dominating or demanding like they usually were, though. Just a kiss. Just warmth and tenderness and need and caring, and all other notions of stability that were not easily associated with the unpredictable Decepticon lieutenant.

Perhaps it was conceited to admit, but the microscope was quite sure that he now knew more about Starscream than anyone else, possibly even Skyfire. While it was likely he was not aware of the seeker's physical capabilities and limits to the extent Megatron was, it was certainly doubtful that any other Transformer had had quite so much insight into the psyche and spark of the friendless, arrogant jet.

He was... exceedingly resentful, spiteful and unforgiving. That much, if it had not been obvious before, had been illustrated very definitely during one of their nights together, when Perceptor had been trembling beneath the larger robot's fleeting caresses. Unfocussed and unable to think straight with the haze of pleasure, the microscope had made some breathy remark about how talented Starscream was. He'd assumed that the seeker would have had lots of practise – he didn't know _why_ he'd assumed that, in retrospect, he had just in his mind associated Starscream with the carnal arts for some reason.

"No," Had been the response, given with no small amount of amusement, "you're the first partner I've had since my lover died."

"But Skyfire is still alive..." Perceptor had murmured, confused. Starscream's hands had lifted off him abruptly, the air commander's voice had turned cold and dismissive and deeply, _deeply_ bitter.

"He's dead." He had spat viciously. The detachment in his tone and the flare of mixed anger and hurt in his spark had been enough to even make Perceptor shudder. "That – that _thing_ wearing his body is _not_ my Skyfire."

And he had transformed and disappeared into the night without another word to his bondmate, who had worried his lower lip for a long time, hoping that he hadn't offended the Decepticon too much.

Orns had passed and Perceptor had heard nothing from his partner. He was beginning to think that he had crossed a line and gone too far, that Starscream would not come back to him, when the seeker renewed the contact, demanding a new meeting.

That meeting had been perhaps the only one which had been unpleasant. Starscream was in a foul mood, abusive and offensive; it was caused by a mixture of maltreatment at the hands of his leader, which had left one of his legs crumpled and useless, and his burning, seething hatred of Skyfire, which had not died down since Perceptor had inadvertently mentioned him.

As soon as the microscope had come into vocal range in the small lakeside copse that they had chosen for that particular time, Starscream had demanded he get on the ground and lie supine with his chest open. His voice had left no room for argument. Perceptor had had a fleeting urge to detonate that bomb, thinking he was going to be punished somehow, but he held back, just in case the seeker's intentions were innocent. It was a good thing he did.

While what happened could be called a punishment, it would also be fair to call it both a warning and an explanation. Starscream had barely been able to speak, his voice high and grating and choked off before he could form words. While limping over to top the smaller robot (it had been hard to tell whether he had voluntarily lain over Perceptor or stumbled and fallen as his crippled leg gave way beneath him), he had somehow put it across that the microscope was never to bring up the one that the seeker called 'that _thing_'.

Then he had initiated a bond, taking Perceptor by surprise. Before the scientist had time to do anything, even gather himself together, Starscream was flooding him with memories of digging Skyfire out of the Arctic wastes, of rescuing him from his icy prison. Of the seeker's hope and ecstasy at seeing the loved one he had given up as dead. Of Starscream telling Megatron they were old friends and that Skyfire would not let them down. Of Skyfire's promising to try and bring Starscream credit, even if he did not agree with the Decepticon cause. Of his betraying them and joining with the Autobots.

Of Starscream reaping the consequences of his lover's treachery.

It had been passed into his recall databanks as a rushed mix of crude and jumbled memories, but Perceptor could not ever remember Starscream being more sincere or more sane than he was then.

The Autobot had felt terrible. He couldn't speak to Starscream afterwards, not even to apologise, and, when he returned to the Ark later that night, he could barely look at his taller friend Skyfire without feeling a lurch in his core.

And, even then it was bittersweet, because he knew, on some level, without being told, that he was being let in to memories that no one else knew. Who else would Starscream have trusted with something that could so easily be construed as a weakness in a Decepticon mind? It was not the sort of thing that such a high-ranking officer in either faction would do, let alone someone who was as versed in the laws of deceit and betrayal as Starscream. That he had let Perceptor in so far was reassuring at the same time as upsetting, for it showed beyond a doubt that the Autobot was more than just a possession, he was a _partner_.

Having learned not to mention Skyfire, Perceptor had reminded himself to shy away from any topics of relationships or the like for those few occasions that Starscream wanted to exchange words instead of overloads. He needn't have worried, for Starscream had not wanted to talk since. Since then, every meeting ended with an overload.

He wasn't sure if he'd lost the seeker's trust or if Starscream had divulged all he wanted to. It didn't matter either way. Perceptor was happy with what he had. He could not ask for more, he did not want to ask for more.

And so the days had passed, with progress on understanding the enigma that was Starscream slow but sure. Winter was setting in and the nights and the dreams were becoming longer.

O

"Tilt your head back further." Commanded the dark-faced jet, his optics glowing as twin pinpoints of light in the dankness of the cavern they had found. Outside, the rain beat a loud and heavy melody on the rock ground.

Perceptor did as he was bidden, having little choice in the matter; Starscream's blue hand was around his neck, pressing it back insistently. The grip, while not tight enough to hurt, was firm and unrelenting, undeniably controlling. The microscope exposed his throat.

He had found, during their relationship, that Starscream _loved_ his neck. He had an obsessive fascination with it. He could spend breems tracing the cables, pinching at the wires, brushing barely-there touches over the primary energon vein.

It was because of how vulnerable it was. The pharyngeal metal was soft and pliable, weak to attacks and susceptible to damage. A Transformer could survive without his body if his head was wired up to an artificial life-support machine that would supply him with the necessary energy, but, in most situations, any mech who sustained a wound to the main arterial energon vessel would lose brain capacity within kliks and would die within half a breem.

Starscream could tear a hole in Perceptor's neck with his bare hands and the Autobot would bleed to death before he could even put out a distress signal.

Because of that thrill of power, the knowledge he held a life in his hands and the knowledge that Perceptor was _letting_ him, Starscream was fascinated with the white-faced scientist's throat. He would cherish it, bite at it, run his fingers down it, working himself up into a frenzy until his vents were thrumming heartily to cool his overheating systems. Then he would moan and shiver and demand caresses on his wings before, sometimes quite forcefully, bonding with his smaller mate.

The Autobot felt himself pressed up against the cave wall, almost off the ground. A hand on his waist pinned him there, the other moving up to grip his chin between thumb and forefinger, allowing his head to be tilted at his bondmate's leisure and convenience. Starscream nuzzled his throat, emitting occasional groans as though unable to contain himself.

Blazing scarlet optics dimmed. Perceptor felt the heat from the jet's vents rush over his body and he was unable to suppress an answering pant of his own.

"Touch me," came the hoarse command from the seeker's mouth, the sound sending vibrations juddering down the connector cables of the pale neck. The microscope responded by manipulating the metal plating of the grey wings as he knew Starscream liked it; tender at first and then digging his fingers in almost hard enough to leave scratches. The seeker's wings were now riddled with dents like those over the Decepticon insignia, all of them from their playing.

A high-pitched whine emanated from the seeker's vocaliser, seemingly out of his control, as he arched his wings into the strokes, his cockpit crunching against the catch on Perceptor's retractable examination tray. Before the scientist could voice his appreciation, however, the hand at his throat tightened, blunt-edged fingers pressing hard enough to dent the metal and even puncture it.

His intended murmur of Starscream's name died in his throat, overtaken instead by a whimper of discomfort. One of hands moved up from the seeker's wings to catch the blue wrist and try to dissuade Starscream from clenching so hard.

"You're hurting me..." He managed, but it Starscream didn't listen. Perceptor's strangled complaints were drowned out by the whirring of vents and the whining of his vocaliser, punctuated by faint moans of pleasure.

Starscream jolted and tensed, his vocalisations stopping abruptly as he threw his head back towards the sky. Optics dim and mouth hanging loosely open, Perceptor knew that his mate had reached an overload, though was being inexplicably quiet about it – usually he would screech for the world to hear.

The air commander slid to the floor contentedly, his now-limp hand falling from around Perceptor's throat. Finally the Autobot was able to relax, and he eased himself down to sit next to his mate, leaning his back against the cool rock of the cavern interior, massaging his sore neck with one hand, trying to ease the finger-sized dents from the soft metal.

And he waited for the thrumming of Starscream's vents to subside, for the slight glow in crimson eyes that signalled Starscream's higher functions slotting back into place.

Wordlessly, the Decepticon sat himself up and brushed the dirt from his fuselage with a disdainful hand before deigning to look at his mate. Azure optics stared into his red dolefully as the grey hand fell from the white neck.

"You hurt me." The meek Autobot stated, his tone carefully devoid of accusation or upset.

"I liked it." Was the snappish response as Starscream gave a weak snarl, disliking being chided as he was still basking in the afterglow of his overload. He didn't offer an apology, and Perceptor knew better than to expect one.

The microscope moved his hand over to rest the flat of his palm on the tip of Starscream's cockpit. "Please don't do it again, if I ask to you ease off then please listen to me."

Some indistinct noise came from the Decepticon's vocaliser, the disgust on his face showing he was not happy with this development. Perceptor took his chance and moved closer, cupping a dark cheek with his spare hand. It was a huge improvement; Starscream barely shuddered at all.

Understanding that he was not likely to make any more progress concerning Starscream's roughness, Perceptor allowed himself to let the subject go. He sat there, stroking his fingers across the metal of Starscream's face for breems, still amazed that the jet was open to such tenderness – it was a stark contrast to his usual state, when all his actions screamed violence.

"Feeling better?" He asked quietly at last; when Starscream had contacted him and demanded the meeting, the seeker had been smarting from another humiliating defeat at Megatron's hands, and had vehemently complained that he could not walk past another Decepticon without being laughed at.

The only audible response was a grunt, but Starscream brought his hand up to cup the back of Perceptor's head, preventing the Autobot from pulling away when he brought their lips together hungrily. That was enough of a positive answer for the microscope.

Outside, the rain was easing off. There was a mist that hung near the sodden ground, eerily catching the light from the few stars that peeked through the cloud blanket.

"You were not there today." Starscream stated hoarsely.

"No. It wasn't a scientific expedition. I wasn't needed." Instantly, Perceptor knew that the air commander was referring to an Autobot patrol sent out earlier that same day. It had been ambushed. Though there had been no deaths, all those involved had suffered pretty severe injuries; Perceptor, Ratchet, Wheeljack and Hoist had been kept busy from the warriors' return to the Ark right into the early night, when the microscope had snuck away for his rendezvous.

"Shame." The jet bared his teeth and licked over them. "I would have liked to see _your_ energon splashing over me again."

Recoiling a little, the Autobot tried to work out whether or not Starscream was joking. It was not easy. "Oh, stop it."

"You should have seen what I did to your friend Prowl. He was asking for it."

"Stop, Starscream."

Starscream laughed at the stern request, brushing his lips over a white cheek at the Autobot's disgust. While he was fond of the jet, Perceptor was well aware he was still a fierce warrior, and he did not like to hear in detail about the wounds inflicted on his friends. Ratchet had treated Prowl, but Perceptor had seen the tactician when he had been brought in, supported by Jazz and Ironhide. He had been in terrible shape.

"Why do you like to cause pain anyway?" He asked quietly, old wounds on his torso alive with unpleasant fiery tingles as he struggled to comprehend the pleasure that Starscream took from the suffering of others.

A twisted smile crossed the grey lips.

"What's not to enjoy? They're helpless at my mercy, I have complete control over them, and then they beg me, promise me they'll do anything just as long as I _end_ it..." An exhalation of heated air as the smouldering optics flared, staring directly into Perceptor's calm azure.

It was sickening to hear, and Perceptor had to fight the urge to cringe away. The idea of being around someone who not only confirmed himself as a sadist but took such pride in it was not one he relished, but something still compelled him to stay right there.

Maybe it was the way that Starscream's head fell down into his lap.

The seeker had proven himself surprisingly clingy, as though he was starved of attention. While he was still getting over his dislike of being touched, he seemed to revel in, and even go out of his way to ensure, that his chassis could press up against his mate's.

Once again, it had been an unexpected discovery, for Perceptor had associated such tenderness with Autobots only, not for a moment believing that the cruel and sociopathic Decepticons indulged in such activity. And yet here was Starscream, who Perceptor would swear was yearning to be held were he not aware of the jet's distinct fear of being touched.

Understanding Starscream was like trying to stop a Cybertronian guardian drone single-handedly. It was not something that could be done easily, if at all. No matter how far Perceptor thought he had gone into the seeker's psyche, there were always so many more layers complicating the process – and Starscream sometimes seemed to be a completely different person while around his mate.

Insights into the seeker's spark through their bonding had explained away very little. It was hard for Perceptor to fully appreciate the thought processes of the Decepticon air commander, who was unstable and seemed not only unashamed of that but apparently revelled in it and the fear it instilled in friend and foe alike.

Sometimes, such as now, with Starscream's head cradled in his lap, it was hard to see the jet as the monster he was so capable of being. Perhaps that was just another of the reasons Perceptor stayed.

And it was then, looking down at his partner, that the microscope noticed the slight denting on the grey neck, shallow depressions that were finger-sized and slightly elliptical. With one dark hand, he tilted the jet's chin back for a better look. Surprisingly, Starscream did not complain or resist.

"Megatron?" Only one word needed to be asked, and Perceptor knew the answer before it was given. After all, how else could the marks have got there?

The air commander nodded and his thin face twisted in a smirk. "That glitch-spawned malfunction can't admit when he's outclassed. Any _rational _being would understand that speed and guile would trump storming in and wasting everything as a strategy. But he's too conceited to admit that I'm _better_ than him."

Perceptor's face contorted in disapproval. "Must you keep provoking him? One of these days you'll push him too far and he'll end up killing you."

"Keh, you worried?" Snorted the Decepticon lieutenant in amusement. His mild-mannered mate sighed and nodded.

"Yes, I _am_. I don't want him to take you away from me."

"As if, I'm not out-dated enough to let him kill me. Let him try. I'll always be better than him, and soon enough_ I'll_ lead the Decepticons. And then," his eyes burned fiery red, "I will destroy the Autobots and take you as my personal slave."

"Oh hooray." There was no point in getting worked up about the ambitions that Starscream laid before him; it could only lead to an argument, and Starscream loved to tease him like this, to see if he could make the scientist angry. Instead, Perceptor let himself respond with dripping sarcasm. "Thank Primus I'm not on your death list."

Starscream snorted. "Y'can't fight back if you're dead. It's more fun when they fight. It's more fun when they scream."

Silently, Perceptor ran a hand over the dark helmet, petting his mate's head. Starscream liked his victims to be vocal. Perceptor knew this well, as the jet so often demanded he be loud during their joining, even though the Autobot found crying out somewhat embarrassing, as naturally quiet and introvert as he was.

Hmm. His internal chronometer was telling him he had already been here for too long.

"I should go." He murmured, longing for a time when they could be together in the open instead of sneaking around in secret. But no one would ever allow it. Not after their violent history. They would claim he had been brainwashed or blackmailed into being Starscream's, they would not accept that he could have consented of his own free will, they would not accept that he enjoyed, no, that he _loved_ being in the Decepticon's arms, being teased into pleasured screams.

He wanted to throw his head back and cry for the world to hear that this was his choice and he did not for a moment regret making it, because Starscream, the most despised of the Decepticons, could make him feel like no Autobot ever could – despite everything they had been through.

"Whatever." Snerked the jet, pushing himself to his feet and wiping cave grime from his paintwork before walking to the mouth of the cave. He had transformed into his vehicular mode and, with a burst of flame and heat from his afterburners, disappeared into the clearing night sky before Perceptor had a chance to say goodbye.

The microscope shook his head to himself as he made his way back to his own people at a slow and leisurely pace. The rain had stopped, and the fresh smell it left was pleasing to his olfactory sensors. It was almost always like this. Starscream rarely stayed for farewells, he just took what he wanted and left, only to summon Perceptor when he was 'needed'.

He hadn't even been brought to overload this time. This time, Starscream really had taken what he wanted and given nothing back. As soon as he had reached his peak, he had forgotten all about bringing Perceptor over the edge. Such was his selfishness.

But Perceptor wouldn't have it any other way, because it was _Starscream_ that he was bonded with, not anyone else. Yes, it had been a mistake, but he had continued it by choice. It would not be the same if Starscream were to change.


	2. Chapter 2

**Salvation**

**Chapter 2**

"Hey, Perceptor!"

The microscope paused where he was, poking his head around the armful of generator parts he was carrying to see who was hailing him.

"Oh! Oh, Ratchet! One moment, let me put this down somewhere..."

"Mm, you can put it in here. Hold on, I've got it -"

Starting forward, Ratchet was just in time to catch the topmost turbine as it slid from Perceptor's control and began to fall towards the floor, nodding his head towards his surgery in indication that the other scientist should deposit his load in there.

After neatly placing his burden up against the wall where it hopefully wouldn't be too much in the way, Perceptor straightened his back and winced as the gears locked back into place.

"Ahh, my gratitude." He breathed in an antiphon of tense relief. "Oh, just put that one on top, thanks." Waving his hand towards the pile to show Ratchet where to place the rogue turbine, he smiled softly. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's what_ I_ can do for _you_." The doctor breezed fluidly over to his computer and called up the medical and maintenance records of the soldiers aboard the Ark. "I'd quite like to check over your circuits."

"_Again_?" Perceptor couldn't keep the exasperation from his voice. "Ratchet, you gave me my last overhaul just over a deca-cycle ago, and I haven't been damaged since. In fact, I haven't left the Ark!" It sickened him to lie to his friends, but he knew they wouldn't understand. They'd think that Starscream was forcing him into it in some way, that he was being blackmailed or pressured or just abused somehow. If only they weren't so eager to see the evil in the seeker! But then, they did have good reason to despise him...

And the ambulance shrugged, twiddling a surgical laser between his red fingers. "Well, it's more that Red Alert was suggesting it to me, really. You know what he's like, it would be easier if you let me check you over rather than tell him I have and have him find out I haven't. He'll only fritz another motherboard."

"Red?" The microscope's optics widened in mild surprise. "Why does he want me looked over?"

"He's a bit suspicious -"

"Well, yes, but he's _always_ suspicious."

"- and he seems to think that you're up to something."

"He _always_ thinks someone is up to something." Shaking his head, the mild-mannered microscope tried to protest his innocence, perhaps being a little more open to assassinating Red Alert's character than he usually would – because he _wasn't_ innocent, and the thought that Red might have discovered his meetings with Starscream chilled him to the core.

But Ratchet was laughing it off with his usual gruff chuckle.

"Haha, yes, that's just the way he is. I know he's usually wrong, but I'll just give you a quick check over. It's probably best if I do, I'd like to check that you haven't got any lingering circuit corrosion or malignant impurity left over from the Decepticons. There were a lot of open wounds festering, and I might have missed anything that was benign at the time."

Nodding his acquiescence, Perceptor had to admit it was a good idea; Ratchet had promoted, and he himself had fully agreed with, the idea of frequent check-ups for a period of time after his imprisonment. He had been mere inches from death at the time of his rescue, and there had been too much time for potentially harmful alien particles to enter his systems – not only from the unsanitary, contaminated floor of the cell, but as he had lain semi-conscious in the desert sand also.

"And I'd quite like to have a closer look at that custom control of yours, if you don't mind?"

"Oh!" He almost panicked. Ratchet seemed to think that the unrecognised component had been helping Perceptor overcome the post-trauma stress of his terrible ordeal. If the doctor were to discover its true purpose rather than its pretended guise of a device to numb pain... Perceptor dreaded to think, the accusations... "Um! N-no, no, I'd really rather you didn't, um..."

Ratchet held up his red hands disarmingly, a kind smile on his face as he conveyed his understanding to his shy, introverted, withdrawn friend. "Don't worry about it, I'll leave it well alone."

"Thanks," he tried to hide his relief, but it was hard; he was not good at concealing his true emotions, they displayed so openly on his face. Thankfully, however, Ratchet was already busy examining the wires in his stomach.

Perceptor decided to stay silent and let the medical officer get on with what he did best.

O

"I don't like it, Soundwave." Megatron paced irritably back and forth, watched by his quiet, impassive communications officer. "He's_ up_ to something."

"Invariably." Was the cool response as Soundwave stood to stiff attention, watching his master with his usual inscrutable expression.

"He's becoming a serious liability. Something has to be _done_."

"Deactivation?" Was the monotone suggestion. Megatron shook his head, a sharp snap to the side which was as much an irate twitch as it was a voluntary movement.

"Too messy. I've let him get away with too much to just blast him. I need a reason." The gun-transformer wheeled about on his subordinate, who did not so much as flinch. "Where has he been going when he leaves the _Nemesis _without authorisation?"

The tapedeck shook his head. "Starscream's destinations remain unknown, Megatron."

"You fool, you didn't think to send one of the Casseticons after him!?" Megatron's fearsome red optics flashed retribution as he berated his loyal officer.

"He does not leave if he suspects he is being followed." Was the toneless response. Megatron seethed but lowered his hand from where it had risen to strike his subordinate.

"Rarrgh!" The tyrant expostulated in frustration, wringing his black hands together, longing instead to be wringing his air commander's neck. "That makes it even _more_ obvious. He's engaging in some private enterprise and I want to know what it is! He's an idiot if he thinks I haven't noticed he's trying to cover it up!"

And the silver robot resumed his ired pacing, his feet hitting the purple metal of the floor with resounding clangs. Soundwave watched him silently as he tried to think of a way to deal with the problem that Starscream's insubordination presented.

"He's got his guard up too high. I'll have to get him to lower it somehow. Suggestions?" Growled the gravelly-voiced gun after several kliks of agitated circles.

"Starscream loses rationality when he is upset." Pointed out the deep blue robot calmly, not at all shaken by his angry master, though fully aware of how dangerous it was to be in the same room as the powerful and genocidal commander while he was in a dark mood such as this.

Megatron's cruel optics glimmered, a slight smirk crossing his silver face as a scheme formulated in his mind. "Hnnn... Firstly, go and inform Starscream that I want a word with him. Tell him to come here. Then dispatch Ratbat. I want him to wait outside and tail Starscream as soon as he leaves. Make it very clear to him that he is not to be seen, I want him to bring me back video surveillance of what he's up to. Oh, and go and tell Skywarp to stay out of the way for the next couple of cycles, I don't want that idiot overhearing anything and thinking I've promoted him."

"At once, Megatron." Soundwave nodded, impassive as ever, and disappeared swiftly to carry out his leader's bidding.

O

Starscream swept in to Megatron's control room as though he owned it, his gait and stride portraying his seemingly limitless volumes of arrogance and self-adulation. Without even bothering to salute his master, he leaned at ease against the supercomputer terminal, another cheeky insubordination. When Megatron did not turn to acknowledge him immediately, he folded his arms in ill-tempered impatience.

"Soundwave said you wanted to speak with me," he announced loudly, speaking slower than usual as though Megatron would have trouble understanding him, "so hurry it up, I'm busy."

In a sudden and unanticipated movement, Megatron whirled on his disobedient lieutenant, towering over the smaller robot. An expression of disgust marred his regal face, highlighting the paint chips of old battle-damage.

"You're a liability." He said with a sneer. "A traitor." The white face moved closer. "A despicable blemish on Decepticon brilliance. You," one black finger jabbed the still blades of one of Starscream's pectoral vents painfully, "are expendable."

"You just don't know when to accept you're outclassed." Retorted the air commander with a matching leer of his own, fearless while Megatron was not physically threatening him. "You're_ scared_ to admit that I would make a better leader!"

Megatron continued as though he had not been interrupted. "You have skill, but your ambition is overpowering you, and that makes you weak."

He stopped to glare for a moment down at the grey-faced jet, who bared his teeth and snarled up at him in hatred.

"Did you call me here just to bitch at me, or is there some other purpose for wasting my time?"

Carelessly, almost automatically, the gun-transformer backhanded his subordinate across the face for the insult, forceful enough to knock him off-balance and send him stumbling slightly to the side, before gripping him by the chin to force their optics to meet.

"I am no longer prepared to feed your treachery. You are being stripped of your rank and command. As of now you will take your orders from Skywarp as my new aerospace commander and you will _obey_ them."

For a long moment, Starscream was speechless, even mouthing wordlessly at his leader, too stunned to even wrench his chin from the tight grip. Then, suddenly, something snapped.

"Me!" He screeched at a pitch and volume that grated the silver robot's audio receptors. "You demote _me_! Me,_ Starscream_! You want me to take orders from_ Skywarp_!? He's an idiot, I won't allow it, how dare you – _how dare you_!"

"You are dismissed. Report directly to Skywarp." Remarked the tyrant coldly, his fingers falling away from their grasp on Starscream's jaw as he turned his back on his subordinate. "Get out."

Starscream stood still, shaking in all his limbs, his fury showing on his face through bared teeth and narrowed, flaming optics. His circuits burned in humiliation at the thought of taking orders from Skywarp, at the thought of being a lower rank than all his grunts, of being bossed around by the same warriors he had spent so much time victimising -

He refused to allow it. With a primeval scream of rage, he lunged at Megatron.

The Decepticon leader, having anticipated such a reaction, whirled round and was quick to raise up his fusion cannon, pointing it directly at Starscream's dark face and effectively stopping the seeker dead in his tracks.

"Out." He repeated, dismissive and apathetic just to add more salt to the sting of Starscream's wounded ego. In a fleeting moment of rationality, Starscream recognised that he was physically outmatched; in his haste and blind anger, he had not even thought to ready his twin null-ray cannons. Faced with Megatron's fusion cannon, he made the decision to withdraw, though it was made in ill-grace and only because he was not prepared to either be killed or beg for his life before the very mech who continued to belittle him like this.

Someone needed to _die_ for this insult to his character!

Frag taking orders from Skywarp, he was getting out of this Primus-forsaken starship!

He slammed out of the control hub with such force that the metal door crumpled at the impact with its frame. Megatron heard his rampage of destruction all the way up the hall as erratic clanging indicated the walls of the corridor being struck by powerful punching blows of anger and frustration, and he smiled to himself as phase one of his strategy slotted nicely into place, completed exactly to plan.

O

A chill mist lingered about the copse in the coniferous forest where the lone Transformer waited. Prior to his arrival, there had not even been a clearing – now the ground was littered with broken branches, charred earth, smoking tree stumps and smouldering corpses of small woodland wildlife as he tried to alleviate his anger before Perceptor arrived by destroying anything around him. Some part of him still understood that in such a dire mood he would only upset his partner.

He didn't notice the purple metallic bat alight on a branch in one of the few trees in the vicinity still standing as he lowered himself to sit on one of the fallen trunks. Nor did he notice the two tiny pinpoints of red in the darkness, flaring brightly before dimming to a barely-there maroon as Soundwave's spy maliciously anticipated Starscream's downfall.

The jet slumped onto the stricken wood, his head falling into his hands.

He'd burned out. No more energy left, he'd wasted it all on thoughtless destruction waiting for his bondmate to come and negate what had just happened. How dare Megatron demote him! And in favour of Skywarp! The Decepticons would surely lose the war now. They had a moron for an officer now instead of the tactical genius that Starscream knew he himself was. Megatron was blind to his brilliance.

Any_ real_ leader should be able to cope with a scheming lieutenant. It was a sign of weakness that Megatron had had to demote him.

Still his circuits ached in humiliation and even shame at the knowledge that he was now ranked lower than all of the other soldiers in his faction. The thought made his energon run cold. He would no doubt be revenged upon for all his bullying, all his bragging, all his lashing out at his subordinates and arrogant posing, and that was a sickening thought indeed.

... why had his first reaction been to come out here and meet with Perceptor?

In the past, if Megatron had pulled a stunt like this, he was sure he would have blasted a hole in the fragger's head and claimed supreme leadership for himself. Now, though, he had come straight out to meet with an Autobot – an enemy –

That wasn't like him at all.

And what was he supposed to _say_ to his mate? Was he supposed to just say 'Megatron demoted me'? That made him sound like a coward for failing to stand up for himself. 'I've been demoted' made him sound inept. 'Megatron fragged me over' just sounded like he was making excuses. He didn't like to admit weakness, even to his bondmate. _Especially _to his bondmate. He was aware that Perceptor held him in a certain amount of fear still. He quite liked that. It would all be jeopardised if the microscope lost respect for him.

Primus, Perceptor might even refuse to meet with him if he thought Starscream was an incompetent coward. The jet found himself growling at the thought.

He seriously considered flying out now, without waiting for Perceptor to arrive. To just leave before the scientist got here and started asking if he was all right. At least then he wouldn't have to deal with another mech seeing him like this, because this was not at all like him.

Although there were a surprising number of things that Starscream hated about himself, such as his stupid name and his stupid voice and stupid mass-production, he hated it most of all when he was depressed like this – because it wasn't _like_ him. It didn't happen often. He usually stayed out of the way when it did, because there was little that was more exploitable than a moping, upset warrior.

Yes, Perceptor had seen him in one of those moods before, once or twice. Somehow, he'd never minded the Autobot being with him at a time like that, perhaps because he understood that Perceptor was not one to exploit, or perhaps it was because he had seen (and caused) Perceptor's own depression and could always exact his revenge if the scientist turned against him. Either way, being with Perceptor didn't really bother him.

But the thought of explaining a demotion sickened him, and he did not want to seem so useless. Regretting calling Perceptor out for this meeting, Starscream decided to leave while he had the chance, redirecting energy to his thrusters to start them up -

"Starscream?"

Slag it.

"There you are!" Perceptor waved his hand in greeting as Starscream, who powered down his afterburners irritably, came into his line of sight. The scientist smiled briefly before stopping dead still as he noticed the still-smoking dead wood around the seeker. "Vector Sigma, what happened here?"

Starscream said nothing. He didn't want to be here any more. That he had come straight out here instead of trying to melt Megatron for slag had proved to him beyond any doubt that Perceptor was _affecting_ him somehow, and he didn't want to change for anyone. No one had the right to change him, least of all a compassionate, sentimental Autobot weakling!

And then he felt the Autobot's concern through his chest, and he grit his teeth. Slag it, slag it, _slag it_!

It stilled his tensed limbs, wound down his turbines, diverted energy from his engines, somehow compelled him to stay, somehow almost _forced _him to stay.

"Starscream..." The red-bodied microscope brought his hands round slowly and deliberately towards the dark face, making his intentions clear in case the jet wished to pull away. Starscream caught himself mid-flinch as the fingers caught his cheeks and jawline in a gentle caress, brushing the seams that ran down from the corners of his optics. "What's happened?"

He had no energy left to try and construct a defence, he couldn't even be bothered to try and talk his way out of it. That never worked with Perceptor anyway; he always found himself skipping straight to the point. It was just another way that the microscope had been changing him without his realising it – though that realisation did not make him angry, as he thought it would. It was, instead, somehow relaxing...

What the frag, what else was there left to lose now he'd lost his power and his control and his_ dignity_?

"Megatron demoted me." He growled, optics flaring dangerously as though daring Perceptor to mock him, just waiting for the jibes and the insults to flow. But he was thinking like a Decepticon again, forgetting that here was one being who, for whatever unfathomable reason, did_ not _hate him – though he was certainly one with good reason to.

No insults came, no jibes, no harsh retort or disgusted sneer.

Whatever Starscream was expecting, the sad smile he saw on his lover's face was the last on the list. The slight shake of the head, the downcast azure optics, the firming of pressure in those dark fingertips against the smooth metal of his cheeks – was Perceptor feeling _sorry_ for him!?

"I don't need your pity!" He snapped, snatching his face away from the careful touch that held it. Used to his abrupt and anti-social actions after the period of time they had spent together, Perceptor merely followed him through, catching one of Starscream's ultramarine hands in his own pewter-grey. Though he snarled at the microscope's courage, Starscream closed his fingers around the dark metal.

"Who replaced you?" Murmured the smaller robot quietly, meeting Starscream's angry red eyes with his own soothing blue.

"That moron Skywarp, who couldn't find his aft with both hands and a radar unless someone sat next to him and gave him directions." Spat the jet in disgust, speaking so venomously at the same time as sliding his hand within his mate's so that their fingers were interlocked. "That's it, war's over, you've won now. Ktchah!"

"Don't worry," Perceptor mumbled, so quietly that Starscream was not sure whether or not he was supposed to hear, "I'll be sure to make you my personal slave instead of killing you."

There was stony, awkward silence that carried on for several astroseconds outside the comfort zone, and Perceptor's hand was beginning to twitch in his as the microscope fidgeted uncomfortably before Starscream smirked in response to the soft teasing and swept his pet into a kiss. Not fierce, not dominating, not demanding – just a kiss, a thankful expression that spoke more than stuttered words with jumbled meanings ever could.

Perversely, he felt much better. Perceptor had hardly said anything uplifting, but the mere presence of his mate had even been enough to make the jet's mood lighter. And even the innocent, naïve, _corruptible_ little scientist had a sense of humour that sometimes proved itself quite similar to the sarcastic wit of Starscream himself – that was refreshing and certainly _interesting_.

Megatron would see sense, he knew, and demand him back as Air Commander for the Decepticons. Skywarp was too brainless to command the battalion of seekers. He had no imagination, he was just a drone so loyal that it was boring. Megatron would be _begging _for Starscream to liven things up again. Megatron _needed_ someone like Starscream to continuously point out the flaws in his planning and remind him to watch his back.

There was a faint smile lingering about the white lips as Starscream drew his head back again, and Perceptor dimmed his optics from shining azure to glimmering prussian, and they glinted in some indeterminable emotion as he took the initiative and recaptured the Decepticon's mouth with his own for another quick kiss.

"Feeling any better?" He muttered against the heated metal of the jet's dark face, and Starscream smirked in response, bringing the hand that was not entwined in Perceptor's to hook around the red waist, just above the pelvic join. While his only vocal reply was a grunt, it was accentuated by the scientist's surprised inhalation through his vents as the jet brought their chassis together with a crunch.

Not without his usual roughness, Starscream tugged Perceptor down to sit on the trunk he had used earlier, positioning the Autobot next to him. Then, as his mate's hand fell away from his limply, he brought the black-helmed head to rest against his crimson shoulder vent before picking up the dropped hand and placing it around his back to hold his waist on the other side.

His vents sped up, churning out more heated waste air in satisfaction as he finished arranging the Autobot around him and he ran his glossa over his grey lips, meeting Perceptor's uncertain eyes with his own unreadable.

As the seeker's blue hand fell down to cover the grey one that rested on his light waist, he felt his partner relax into the embrace further.

... Starscream had no intention to bond tonight, not while he was still so upset about being stripped of his rank. He knew that if he were to initiate a coupling, it would only end up as an outlet for his frustrations – it would be violent and harsh and unfulfilling, for, though he might drive himself to an overload, it would only be in pain. And Perceptor would be left... as he had been before, after their first bond.

The seeker knew he was good at taking without consent, and he enjoyed when his victims begged for mercy, but that didn't mean he always wanted to inflict such a thing – and he didn't want to hurt his microscope that badly, not like he had done once before. So there would be no bond tonight. He was just, now that he had settled to be at ease with it, thankful for the company.

And so Starscream allowed his optics to drift off and dim to nothing, resting his head against his shoulder vent and wishing, not for the first time, that the blasted thing wasn't there, so that he could lay his head on his lover's instead.

Far above, unnoticed by the silent couple, Ratbat quietly launched away from his branch, his optics gleaming a malevolent and vindictive sangria. He'd seen all he needed to see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Salvation**

**Chapter 3**

"You're pathetic!"

The words reverberated in his audio receptors, or that might just have been the vibrations from the heavy impact of the fist that struck the side of his head. He flew across the room as easily as if he were weightless, his fall broken by the wall.

Megatron towered above him, irrepressible fury etched deeply in the lines on his white face. "You _disgust_ me!"

One of the light grey feet caught Starscream straight in the cockpit as he was trying to pick himself up off the floor. He bent double, optics wide, as he felt part of his energon processor collapse under the crushing blow.

... What the frag had happened? He'd returned to the Nemesis after his meeting with Perceptor to find Soundwave waiting for him, and had been told Megatron wanted to see him. He'd stupidly assumed that he was being re-promoted, and had sauntered into his master's quarters.

And now -

A dark hand picked him up by the neck, lifting him from the floor. He struggled vainly against it, trying to pry the fingers from his neck, but Megatron was far stronger than him.

"Stop -" The choked word was ignored, Megatron even shaking him back and forth when he dared to speak. The rough treatment disturbed his equilibrium and unsettled his balance fluids, cutting his plea short. A worrying gurgle emanated from his vocaliser as the tyrant hurled him halfway across the room and into the recharge berth, sending him tumbling over it in an awkward and jarring cartwheel.

Again the white face twisted in a snarl, the merciless optics flashing vengeance as the powerful fusion cannon was levelled at the weakening seeker and fired. Piercing purple sliced the air in two, and Starscream twisted in a rough attempt to dodge the shot. He didn't entirely succeed, as the beam passed through his side and severed a minor energon vessel there, but his quick reflexes had saved him from a fatal wound.

"Mega-" Once again, he started to try and beg for his life, to beg for forgiveness, for mercy, but before he could even complete his master's name, the furious warlord was over him and kicking him in the head.

"I thought you were _better_ than this!" Yelled the ruthless leader, accompanying each word with another harsh kick, raising his voice above Starscream's whimpers. "And here I find that you're willing to sell yourself out to your little Autobot _whore_!"

"N-no, I -" Starscream desperately pleaded, trying to curl away from the relentless impacts raining down upon his face and shoulders. His words were interrupted again, this time as the foot caught him in the throat and dislodged his vocaliser, knocking it out of place slightly.

And he desperately tried to think of a way out of this. Megatron _knew_ somehow – probably had one of those blasted cassettes spy on him – and Starscream didn't think that the excuse 'you made me start this, I was just making it work' would satisfy his enraged commander. At this rate, Megatron was going to beat him to death.

"I should have known!" The gun-transformer was hissing, staring down with contempt at his fallen lieutenant. "You and your infatuation with Autobot scientists!"

Unable to speak as his vocaliser re-aligned itself with the connective circuitry, Starscream tried, his processor sluggish as it was damaged by the frequent impacts upon it, to think of a way to get out of this with his life, a chance that seemed upsettingly small.

And he thought of Perceptor.

No, he didn't need to rely on anyone else – he could get through this without letting the Autobot know his weaknesses.

But he thought of Perceptor.

He didn't need anyone, he didn't need anyone, he didn't need _anyone_, he was strongest on his own when he couldn't be betrayed. He could worm his way out of this on his own, like he always had done before.

But still he thought of Perceptor.

There was nothing left to lose; the only reason Megatron was holding off killing him was for the enjoyment of seeing him writhe in pain. All of his nervous circuits were alive with signals, firing to his processors and leaving him twitching spasmodically.

As his breaking body was beaten across the room again, his leader screaming more insults and accusations at him, Starscream sent a helpless plea through the communicator link, at the same time doing his best to shut off the bond; he didn't want his mate to feel his fear.

_Starscream?_ Perceptor's meek and soft voice in his processor, as though he had heard it without his audio receptors being utilised._ But we just met, can't we wait till tomorrow? I'm exhausted._

_He knows! He's going to kill me._ There was simply no time to mess around, Perceptor had to understand that Starscream could not survive much more. Already Megatron's quarters were purple with his lifeblood._ He's going to kill me. Help me! Don't let him kill me!_

The jet's vocal emulator started a grating, high-pitched whine as it restarted, finally having slid back into place. At the irritating, involuntary noise, Megatron roared, apoplectic and uncontrollable in his anger. Starscream's concentration wavered, Perceptor's response was drowned out.

_Starscream, I'm not going to betray my friends, I thought we already agreed this. Now, I'm going to recharge. I'll see you soon._

No! No, no, he was about to lose his last lifeline -

There was no other choice, Starscream poured all his remaining concentration into opening the bond between their sparks, sending his emotions flooding to Perceptor.

Just as one of Megatron's hands closed around the upper ridge of his left wing – the wing on which Perceptor had inflicted those first three scratches over the insignia – crushing it, crumpling the thin metal in an inescapable vice grip. A groan of discomfort was torn from his throat as his leader began to tug at his limb with harsh force, the grey foot coming to rest against his shoulder.

All too late, Starscream realised what Megatron was doing.

There was an audio-splitting shriek as the metal of his wing was shorn straight in two.

The jet gaped in shock at his dismembered wing dangling from Megatron's black hand in the few instances before the pain registered, and then he arched his back, his right hand whipping round to clasp at the bleeding stump as he threw his head back and howled.

Shock set in, disconnecting many of his less-vital systems as he brought his hand back round, staring horrified at the viscous purple liquid that slicked his fingers as energon oozed from the stricken metal of his back.

He'd suffered plenty of injuries to his wings, which were not retractable and protruded unprotected from his body, he'd had parts shattered, shot off, he'd had the whole limb disconnected for repairs, Megatron had whipped him over the wings countless times – but he'd never had one so callously and calmly torn off, ripped from his body -

From somewhere faint, as though far away, he heard his mate's voice, worried and guilty, distorted through his fading awareness as Megatron cruelly held his wing out to him. Not fully conscious of his own actions any more, Starscream reached out and took his limb, cradling it to him, thin noises emanating from his vocaliser, a mixture of stunned disbelief and severe hurt.

_-mus,_ came the meek voice through the communicator, barely audible over the thudding of his own energon pumps_, ... geological survey... next terrestrial solar cycle, co-ordinates... forty, forty-nine north, fourteen, twenty-six east._

He understood.

Perceptor was giving him information. It wasn't important, probably. But if he told Megatron, he could pretend that he had just been using the Autobot, getting into his trust to further Decepticon needs. It was a chance, it could work.

"Listen -" He started thickly, his fingertips shuddering against the wing in his arms, but Megatron was not to be calmed.

The Decepticon leader ruled with fear. He was ruthless, and calculatingly cruel, and he remained the embodiment of control by making sure he was familiar with the psychological strengths and weaknesses of all of his warriors – especially the most troublesome ones.

Starscream fancied himself a master of torture. He was _nothing_ compared to Megatron.

With sadistic slowness, he raised Starscream's chin up; the jet had no more energy to fight, most of it was spattered on the walls in sickening amounts. With his spare hand, he brought around black fingers towards the dark face, his anger subsiding to colder but more effective punishment. He was well aware that physical violence had stopped working on Starscream a long time ago, and he had had to become more inventive.

Slowly, those fingers wandered, almost deceptively gently, towards the red optics. Savagely, they tore the fragile translucent material straight from the seeker's face, discarding shards on the floor. Megatron ignored the shrieks as he continued ripping optical wires from the jet's now-empty sockets, blinding his insubordinate warrior.

Starscream ripped himself away from the unforgiving hands, deaf to his own yells for mercy as he covered his mutilated face with one hand. When he gathered the courage to move that hand away, his fears were recognised and he fought down the urge to scream in horror as he could not see a thing.

As a flier, the thought of blindness terrified him, perhaps more than falling. At least when one was falling, there was still a chance that air resistance would slow descent enough to restart one's engines. A lack of sight meant a lack of knowledge of the surroundings – any obstacle, any danger might loom up unavoidably. There was no anticipating, no dodging; it was the fear of the unknown.

In vain, the seeker tried to activate his radar; it did not respond, the wires cut at the earlier cannon wound to his chest. He fought down the welling panic within his chest, vents cycling out more air than he was taking in as they sped up in his terror.

"Megatron," though he tried his hardest to keep his voice from wavering as he wailed his leader's name, the underlying sobs were still there as he trembled helplessly, "Megatron, I'm sorry, please -!" He wasn't even sure what he was begging for any more, he just wanted it to _stop_.

"You're pathetic." Megatron sneered, footfalls thudding as he pace around the crippled jet, who clutched his wing to him tighter with one hand while reaching out, groping fruitlessly with the other, hoping to touch something that might help him get his bearings. He tried to process audio input logically, but irrationality choked him, overwhelmed him, robbed him of his voice as he tried to use the information his mate had given up for him.

"Th-the Autobots," he managed, still surprisingly eloquent, "tomorrow, forty, forty-nine north, fourteen, twenty-six east, am-ambush them..."

The pacing stopped. Starscream turned his head towards where he thought Megatron was, though it didn't help at all; the only input from his eyes was the thin stream of optic fluid leaking about the torn metal, his sight was gone.

"Interesting." Murmured the tyrant at long-last, much, much calmer than he had been, though, in many ways, his slow and exaggerated movements were more frightening than his towering rage had been. "Perhaps I have misjudged you this time, Starscream."

The jet felt himself hauled off the ground and half-led, half-dragged along by his master; he couldn't tell where he was being taken, completely disoriented and slowly being pulled under the suffocating panic that was threatening to overwhelm his conscious. Still he clutched his wing to his fuselage tightly, as though it would help him somehow.

And then he was stumbling forward, pushed by Megatron, to fall to the floor with a clatter. Sightlessly, he drew himself up to all fours and turned his head back to where he believed his leader was standing.

"You will stay in here until I have ascertained whether or not you are telling the truth." Came the cold, unfeeling voice. Though the seeker could not see it, Megatron was smirking down at the wreck that had, cycles before, been the most arrogant of the Decepticons.

Heavy retreating footfalls told Starscream that Megatron was leaving. He waited until he couldn't hear those rhythmic noises any more before he drew himself into a hunched, shivering ball, his knees up tight to his cockpit so that he could hide his head in them. He switched energy input to his optics off, wanting to stay under the illusion that he was blinded by choice, that he would be able to see if he turned them back on...

He wanted revenge, he wanted revenge on Megatron for doing this to him, he _hated_ Megatron! At least it would be over soon, this would all be over soon, Megatron would destroy some Autobot weaklings and it would be over. He would be free to plot again, free to be himself again, free to, to...

A geological survey? That was what he had heard through the communicative link. That meant it would just be a couple of stupid scientists playing with some rocks, no problem for the Decepticon strike forces, an easy kill. Easy kills, no competition, Megatron would praise him, he would be able to kill his leader -

But... but a geological survey? What if – what if _he_ was on it? What if_ Perceptor_ was on that survey?

Well, he would get killed, and serve him right for landing Starscream in this mess! The Decepticon shuddered and clutched his wing close to him.

Some time ago, someone had told him that the worst thing that could happen to any Transformer was to lose a bondmate. That was why he had stalled back on Cybertron, when that traitor Skyfire had proposed that they merge their sparks. He'd been terrified of that supposedly-unbearable sensation of having a mate ripped from you...

Oh, Primus, the blackness was stifling! Any number of hostile threats could be lingering right next to him, and he couldn't see them to defend himself from them -!

An involuntary whimper ripped itself from his throat, and he curled tighter, hoping that Megatron's mercy would come to him soon.

O

"What time are you planning on leaving?" Asked Prowl, watching the three scientists prepare their equipment for the upcoming expedition.

"Oh, we'll probably head off sometime very soon while it's still early in the solar cycle, there's a time difference that far, it'll be afternoon by the time we get there." Remarked Skyfire calmly, looking up from the datapad he was studying.

"Will you want a military back-up?"

"No thanks, I think we'll be more than capable to handle any attacks. Besides, there's no reason to worry, the Decepticons don't know we're heading so far out. The coordinates aren't anywhere near here, according to an Earth map, they fall on the coast of a country call... um,"

"Italy." Supplied Beachcomber helpfully from somewhere around Skyfire's knee.

"Yes. Italy."

The tactician tilted his head back blankly. "And why are you going all the way out there again?"

Both Beachcomber and Skyfire turned to Perceptor, who was standing a small way away from them, indicating that Prowl should enquire of him. "He's the one who came up with the idea."

"Well, Perceptor?"

"Hm? Oh." The microscope shrugged, his voice a substantial amount more listless than usual. "There's a volcano at those coordinates, called Vesuvius. It _should _be subject to periodic catastrophic eruptions, resulting in violent pyroclastic surges of immense kinetic energy output, but it's been overdue for at least the last forty terrestrial years which means the surrounding human settlement is at serious risk. I've been considering siphoning energy from the potential geothermal reserves, which will keep us functional and reduce the risk to the indigenous lifeforms."

His explanation finished, he turned himself slightly away from his friends again, before realising that they were all utterly silent and glancing back; all three of them were staring at him.

"Hmm," Prowl responded to the description, which was just a little too theoretical for his liking. "You're all capable mechs, I trust you're able to defend yourselves. The expedition has my approval, but I want you to report back to Prime before you start any experiments with the volcano."

As he left to return to his immense workload, both tall Skyfire and diminutive Beachcomber turned their heads to stare back at their microscope friend.

"Perceptor," asked the white shuttle carefully, worriedly, "are you all right? You seem a bit... upset?"

"Hm?" Too late Perceptor remembered that he was not so good at hiding his emotions. "Oh! I'm fine, I just... uh, didn't get much in the way of recharge, so my systems are a bit sluggish."

"Hmm, insomnia again?"

"Oh, no, nothing like _that_. I've just had a lot on my mind." The red-bodied researcher shook his head and forced himself to smile at his colleagues, wanting to dispel the worry from their minds.

"Are you sure you should be coming out with us? Maybe you should let Ratchet check you over." Beachcomber suggested as he checked one of his tyres.

The microscope forced a chuckle. "Ratchet has checked me over as many times in the past deca-cycle as I have transistors and he's found nothing wrong, it's nothing to worry about. It'll pass quickly, I'm sure."

Maybe he should have asked Prowl for a military backup. After all, Skyfire and Beachcomber were relying on the fact that the Decepticons were not aware of their travelling to the landmass the humans called Europe. Of course, they didn't know that Perceptor had leaked that information only cycles ago.

The microscope again questioned whether or not he should have given Starscream that information, as he had questioned the decision countless times since he had made it. But he had been so worried, so scared that he was about to lose his mate – for just that split instant, saving the life of the sadistic, cruel, unpredictable and hated jet – saving _Starscream_ – had seemed more important than worrying about the fate of the scientists, himself included, that he had endangered.

Besides, Prowl was right. Though all three of them held pacifist ideals and were not ideally suited to a time of war, they were far from helpless, more than capable of defending themselves should the need arise. And he was rather relying on Skyfire's speed and efficiency when it came to evacuations. Hopefully, the shuttle would have transformed and got them out of harm's way and back to safety at the first sign of danger on the radar.

He didn't mention to his colleagues that he had not had much recharge because of, not only being kept awake by Starscream's pleading, but by his sickening, spark-consuming worry about the Decepticon's health. The air commander had sounded so scared through the communicative link. Correspondence had terminated so suddenly.

Even the terror that Perceptor had felt channelled through their spark-bond had been cut off abruptly.

Was he even still alive?

He had to be – Perceptor refused to believe that his mate was dead. He'd probably just... probably just offlined from the beating, he had said himself that he often did because Megatron was so rough...

That nagging feeling of guilt that licked at his core was extremely unpleasant, the microscope thought to himself as he checked he had all of the tools and equipment he needed. It was because he had sold out his friends to save a Decepticon who may have already been marked for termination by his leader.

Oh, if only Starscream had listened to him and stopped provoking Megatron, maybe then the tyrant wouldn't be so eager to hurt him! But there was no changing the jet. No changing his ambitious, power-hungry, backstabbing ways.

And Perceptor _ached _for the war to end, so that they could live in peace without any of this subterfuge and hiding and selling each other out. He hated that he had been forced to, within a klik, decide whether to risk the life of his friends or the Decepticon who, though holding the ability to make him feel so wonderful, often treated him like dirt.

It was impossible to word just how much it had hurt him that he had chosen the Decepticon over his friends – he just hoped that his trust would not be misplaced, and that Starscream would be thankful for the assistance, and that Skyfire would be quick to take the initiative and flee at the sight of any ambush. Perceptor would never be able to cope if Skyfire or Beachcomber were killed because of him.

He hoped that Starscream was still alive.

And he prayed to Primus that he would not regret his hasty and quite possibly misguided decision.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note:- **Sorry about the delay. Sadly, my hard drive frazzled out and, at the moment of writing this, all the data saved on it was lost. Most of it, thankfully, was replaceable or backed up; my unfinished chapters of _Salvation_ were neither, so I have had to rewrite most of this.

However, on a brighter note, **Illucien** deserves a mention because she has drawn me some fanart! I'm really chuffed about that. The link has gone up on my profile page, please check it out if you have the time.

**Salvation**

**Chapter 4**

"It's really quite beautiful here, don't you think?" Beachcomber took a moment to stare approvingly over the surrounding city from his vantage point near the top of the live volcano the three Autobots had landed on. At mid afternoon, the sun having slid past its zenith, the white plaster of the houses caught an almost golden light, glowing with ethereal brightness. Earth really was full of surprises. "What did you say this place was called again?"

"Um," after checking through his databanks for relevant information, Perceptor offered an answer, "Napoli, I think it was."

The third member of their expedition, the tall white Cybertronian shuttle Skyfire, looked up, having just transformed after carrying his two smaller friends from the crashed Ark in the American desert. "Really? I thought it was called Naples?"

"Hmm, I think it depends what language you're speaking."

"Well, I'm speaking Cybertronian, what language are _you_ speaking?"

Perceptor went to answer, but then he saw the playful smirk that was lingering on Skyfire's honest face, and he caught himself, realising he was being wound up. He buffeted the larger robot with one grey hand in mock-irritation. "Oh, you big lump, you know perfectly well what I mean!"

"Haha, I got you though." At the gentle tease, both Skyfire and Beachcomber dissolved into hearty laughter. The milder Perceptor was not sure which was more audible, Skyfire's booming laugh, which made the very ground beneath his feet shake, or Beachcomber's deep resonating chuckle.

"Come on," the red-bodied microscope chided patiently, his nervousness dispelling his light-hearted bickering as he started his ascent closer to the crater of the great volcano. The stench of sulphur lingering around his olfactory sensors, becoming more pronounced as he neared the mouth of the volcano, "we'd best get these measurements done, I don't want to be here any longer than necessary. We're at serious risk."

"Risk?" Beachcomber queried blankly as he started to periodically stab measuring devices into the earth as they neared the edge of the caldera caused by a previous devastating eruption. "What risk?"

"We have no military backup. The Decepticons -"

"Aren't a threat to us," Skyfire cut in with a shrug, distracted as he began to rapidly scribble on a datapad that was swamped by his huge hand. "They don't know we're here."

"Won't we show up on their satellite?" Perceptor pressed, knowing full well that the Decepticons knew of the survey and wanting to warn his fellows without telling them of his betrayal outright.

"Doubtful." Skyfire shrugged again. "Their satellite system probably isn't quite as advanced as ours, what with them being underwater and known enemies of the humans. Besides, they'll be focussed on America. Italy is of no consequence."

Perceptor nipped at his lower lip, concerned; they still didn't realise the danger they were in, but he couldn't do anything more to warn them without sounding suspicious. And what was more, he hadn't heard a thing from Starscream since the abrupt cut-off of all communication, both from the bond and their custom-installed link. It was eating his spark with worry.

Because he'd had a sensation not dissimilar to having his arm ripped off, just before the links had been cut. It had been an intense pain detection in his left side, overwhelming but somewhat muted, as though from far away – and then all channelled input had gone dead. Was Starscream -

"Hmm, what do you think, Perceptor?" Skyfire called over, peering down into the crater from the opposite ridge. Perceptor straightened up in surprise; he hadn't been paying any attention to his scientific colleagues.

"Ehm... what do I think about _what_?" He queried, as nonchalantly as he could. Thankfully, Skyfire just shook his head in amusement, gently chastising the smaller mech for his apparent lack of social grace.

"Honestly, present you with something interesting and you forget all about the rest of us." He chuckled affectionately. "I was asking about siphoning the geothermal energy. That was what you proposed, wasn't it?"

"Oh? Ah, yes, yes, that's right -" Vents humming in mild embarrassment at his own absent-mindedness, Perceptor checked the readings that Beachcomber had gathered and compared it with data in his own recall centres. "Hmm, there's potential for tapping the energy, but, ehm, it could just aggravate the volcano and accelerate the next catastrophic pyroclastic surge."

The analysis was interrupted by a faint but distinct rumble, at first not dissimilar from the seismic disquiet just before an earthquake, yet another phenomenon of this new world. At first, it seemed as though the volcano was greeting them by warning of an imminent explosion, but then it became apparent that the vibrations were from some distance away, coming closer. All three of the Autobots looked towards the west, their sensors pinpointing that as the location the sound was emanating from.

Perceptor's spark sank in his chest. That wasn't seismic activity. Those sounded like -

_Engines_.

And sure enough, there on the horizon, were five indistinct dots in the air, growing larger at an alarming rate. Beachcomber shouted a warning as the shapes came close enough to be recognised.

Oh _frag_!

The curse had barely formed in his mind before the first gunfire tore up the side of the mountain. He distinctly made out Megatron's form flying over him, as well as the usual strike force of jets – the dark blue, the dark red and the two black – but Starscream was conspicuously absent.

Heated purple beams singed the sides of his chassis and scattered the dirt at his feet, driving him further back towards the mouth of the crater. He heard an explosion from his right, but could not pay it any attention as he tried to dodge yet another shot, almost falling backwards down the slope of volcanic slurry.

"Perceptor!" Beachcomber was calling out to him, beckoning towards Skyfire – intelligent, quick-thinking Skyfire, who had already had the presence of mind to gather up as much of their equipment as he could and transform into his huge shuttle mode, offering them a quick escape route. But he was too far away for Perceptor to get too – somehow, he had ended up on the opposite side of the crater mouth.

Seeing there was no way he could make it to Skyfire, and not wanting Beachcomber to wait for him, he microscope signalled for the little geologist to get himself to safety as the strike force banked around for another shot at destruction.

All he could think about was getting away from the caldera. The grit was sliding, the footing unsure, and Megatron was apparently taking great pleasure in aiming at the ground by him, just short of his heels, forcing him to keep moving; if this carried on much longer, the scree would give way, and he would fall into the volcano...

And where the slag was Starscream? Why wasn't he _here_, joining in the attack? Had Megatron -

The microscope dove away from the edge of the cliff, landing running, with the vague intention of fleeing to Syfire, though by now the shuttle had been forced to take off to try and avoid the hostile fire that peppered all around him.

One of the shots singed the white scientist's wing, taking him by surprise and drawing a cry from him as he spiralled downwards, out of control. Perceptor averted his optics from the falling flier and forced himself to keep running as he felt gunfire tearing up the metal at the backs of his legs, Megatron still not aiming to kill.

At the shot that penetrated the back of his knee and pierced through the joint, the weakened metal gave out and he fell, sliding some way down the mountainside before grinding to a halt. The worn igneous gravel scratched at his exostructure, and he hazily focussed his optics down the slope. The city didn't look so beautiful now.

Part of him gave up, right there, as he felt the stones chip into him. He couldn't run any more; all neural relay to his legs was shutting down and his energy reserves were too low. Starscream was dead, there could be no other explanation for his total absence, and he had betrayed his friends and possibly killed them too – had Beachcomber been with Skyfire when he was shot down? Had Skyfire survived the fall?

Primus, he felt so wretched and _cowardly_. How many times had he sworn to himself that he would be as brave as the best Autobot? That he would make himself as useful as he possibly could for the cause he knew he believed in? And yet he had sold out that very same cause because the fear of losing one Decepticon had overpowered his logic processor. He'd lost Starscream anyway.

It was only part of him that doubted. The rest of him grit his teeth in determination; he'd come too far and survived too much to give up now. Even if his legs didn't work any more, his light cannon certainly did!

He rolled onto his back when he heard something land behind him, a hand flying up to the cylindrical weapon on his shoulder to aim it should needs be -

"Come on, hurry!" It was Skyfire, still in shuttle mode; apart from the carbon scoring on his wings and the blackened hull, he didn't at all look injured. Perceptor stared in surprise, but, before he could ask how his taller friend had survived the nosedive he had been in after being shot, Skyfire was speaking again, rapid and urgent. "We've got to get out of here!"

The hatch to the shuttle's hold opened and Beachcomber, sparking slightly but not badly hurt, hurried out, helping the struggling red microscope to his feet and supporting him into the safety of the larger scientist. Skyfire took to the air as soon as the ramp retracted and the compartment closed. No sooner than his taking to the air was the very spot he had been parked torn up with laser fire.

With a burst from his boosters, the Cybertronian craft sped towards the stratosphere, the surprise action earning him a head start over the pursuing jets, a burning trail of air behind him as he fled the Decepticon ambush.

O

Thundercracker stared impassively at the unmoving figure on the operating table as Hook, muttering irritably to himself, started the gruelling process of repairs.

The light blue jet, rather than joining the strike force, had been left behind at the Decepticon base with orders to guard Starscream. He didn't really understand the logic behind the order.

Starscream didn't need guarding. There wasn't really anything left to guard.

When Thundercracker had, as per Megatron's command, gone to stand guard outside the cell that the merciless leader had dumped his broken lieutenant in, Starscream had barely been conscious, operating more on instinct than on any voluntary action.

It had been shocking, the state that Starscream was in. He was a terrible mess. When Thundercracker had arrived and looked in at him, his optics had widened in disbelief and disgust at the state that Megatron had left his officer. His energon converter had clenched and lurched most unpleasantly; he'd never before seen such an obvious example of psychological torture.

Starscream had been kneeling on the ground, clutching his own dismembered wing to him tightly, his lips resting near the top edge in a gruesome parody of a kiss. He was seemingly fighting down tremours of terror. Perhaps even more disturbingly, the proud, glowing red eyes had gone, replaced by the optic wires spilling down his cheeks like torrents of human tears, dripping with stray rivulets of energon.

At hearing his wingmate's footsteps stop outside the cell, Starscream's fuselage had jerked slightly, he turned his head towards the blue seeker's general direction - though he was off by quite a bit, gazing sightlessly to the left of Thundercracker's actual position as he spoke. His voice had been uncharacteristically quiet, utterly subdued and totally submissive.

"Megatron," he'd whimpered, a sob in his vocal emulator choking his words, "I'm sorry, p-please don't leave me here..."

And, though he held no real like for his arrogant and disagreeable commander, Thundercracker had felt his spark wrench in sympathy at the piteous display.

It was truly sickening - not only at the extremes Megatron would go to when dealing punishment to his soldiers, but at the lengths that Starscream apparently went to in order to invite such punishment. And it was sickening too, seeing the fate of the aloof and proud officer, reduced to such a helpless state...

If Thundercracker had been the type, he would have said to his commander, "I told you so, I told you Megatron was out for your blood,"... but he was not so cruel, and, instead, after as gently as he could telling Starscream that he was not Megatron, silently went about his duty as a guard.

Then, less than a cycle later, while the strike force was still away from the sunken starship, Megatron's voice had come in over the radio, crackling with static but still clear and audible.

"See to it that Starscream is fully repaired, if he is still alive."

By the time that Thundercracker had acknowledged the curt order, lowered the energy bars of the cell and picked his blinded commander up, the other seeker had fully lost his consciousness. Even so, one hand still tightly held that lifeless wing. Thundercracker could not pry it away for the life of him.

Even now, as Starscream lay unresponsive on Hook's operating table, neither the Constructicon nor the seeker could coax the comatose jet to let go of his broken limb. Hook had quickly lost patience with it, unhappy as he was with constantly having to repair Starscream after Megatron's punishments, and had given up trying to force the blue hand open, instead busying himself with replacing the destroyed optics.

Thundercracker stood silently, watching the repairs, occasionally handing Hook a component or device whenever it was asked for. Though he was not at all fond of Starscream, he did find himself wanting to do more to help, if only because he could see, as vividly as if he was still there staring at the grisly scene, the beaten officer kneeling in a darkened cell, hugging his own torn-off limb to him and kissing it as though it was giving him some scant comfort.

The blue jet forced himself to think back to the last time that Starscream had been in a state anywhere near this – that time almost immediately after Skyfire's defection from the Decepticons. It had been said, while the air commander was undergoing repairs, that the state of his aviation circuits was too far gone to ever be fully repaired. Everyone had been certain that Starscream would not fly again. When he had regained consciousness, Starscream had not spoken to anyone for orns – he had just sat and stared at exactly the same spot until the need to recharge had forced him to move.

And yet he had made a full recovery. If anything, he had become even _more_ obnoxious and infuriatingly difficult to be around. That meant there was a good chance of this whole incident also being rapidly forgotten. There was nothing to worry about; Starscream would be back soon, and then everyone would be back to wishing that Megatron would just shoot him through the head and be done with it.

Already, Hook had finished installing one of the new optics and had moved on to the second. Thundercracker tried to stop questioning his loyalty to Megatron. It would not do to be doubted as much as their devious, wayward air commander was.

O

Starscream stared up at the purple of the ceiling above him. The surgical light, which was intense focussed white light, caught it at just the wrong angle, sending a dazzling glared into his eyes, though he didn't really seem to register this as he continued to gaze blankly upwards.

It took him almost a breem to gather his senses together and to fully realise where he was and why he was there.

Then, in one horrible rush, it all came back. Punishment, pain, the penetrating, all-consuming blackness, seeping into his joints, into his mouth, into his eyes, killing him slowly...

He had his sight back, then. He'd survived – not that he really remembered how. There had been someone else there; he distinctly remembered being in someone's arms, though he thought he might have dreamed it, as the memory was hazy and surreal, full of abstract images and that same faceless mech. It hadn't been Megatron. He didn't think it had been any of the Decepticons – but then, he couldn't be sure. He felt sure that he had dreamed it anyway.

The fingers of his left hand closed about something cold and crumpled. Weakly, he brought it up into his line of sight to see what it was, though not once turning his head.

And he recognised it as his wing. It was definitely his wing. But he clearly felt the neural response from both of his wings, connected to his fuselage, so that meant that his missing limb had been replaced too. It was definitely his wing that he held. There were even the three parallel scratches over the Decepticon symbol, put there by an Autobot... by Perceptor.

Perceptor...?

The last of Starscream's processors clicked back into place. Perceptor, the Autobot scientist, brilliant in academia but hopeless in most social interactions.

His pet. His bondmate. The cause of all this punishment. The comfort that he had seen holding him in his blindness. The weakness in his impenetrable defences. The cure for his isolation.

And, undeniably, the only robot who would arch himself deliciously beneath Starscream, the only one who would willingly moan the seeker's name in pleasure, still the only one who would consent to scream on command without having to be beaten into it.

Starscream cringed without a reason.

The door to Hook's medical bay slammed open. Though the seeker still did not turn his head, he could see, out of the corner of his optics, that it was Megatron who stood there, smirking in that way that could chill any warrior to the core.

"I misjudged you." Sneered the gun-transformer, stepping in to the surgery and staring down at his lieutenant, who remained unresponsive. "Using the Autobot as an information source was a stroke of brilliance. I did not expect such a thing from you."

One black finger trailed down a seam on the dark face, for no reason other than to cause discomfort and to assert dominance. Starscream's epidermal metal seemed almost to crawl away from the touch, a fleeting grimace flitting across the grey lips, and Megatron's optics flared sadistically at his successfully provoking a response from his recovering officer.

"You were accurate about the Autobot activity to the east." The tyrant continued. "But I am confining you to your quarters until further notice. You will go straight there after Hook has verified that you are in full working order. I refuse to have such blatant insubordination in my army, Starscream. Let this be a lesson to you. I will tolerate no more of your stupid games."

"... Yes, Megatron." His voice hurt to use, the circuits somehow grating against each other as they shifted back into their proper place after his loud and endless shrieks for mercy, but his survival instinct kicked in and told him that it would only hurt more if he didn't use it.

"As for the Autobot, you are not to meet him without my express permission."

Sluggishly, Starscream coaxed himself to nod once in acquiescence; he couldn't even think of disobeying at that moment.

"You have my orders. Make sure they are obeyed. There will be no more chances." Megatron turned his back and stalked out of the medical bay, leaving his lieutenant lying rigid and still. The seeker gazed unseeingly at the deep violet of the ceiling, wanting a grey hand to run across his cheek in comfort at the same time as fighting down the urge to expel fluids from his energon converter at the thought of _anyone_ touching him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Salvation**

**Chapter 5**

As the terrestrial solar cycle drew to a close, Starscream found himself becoming more and more restless, itching to leave his quarters and expend the energy that was building up behind his circuits.

He'd followed Megatron's orders to the word, retreating to his quarters as soon as Hook had discharged him from the medical bay. He'd had no problem with staying in the confines of his own room at first; he didn't want anyone seeing him while he was still recovering from the beating he had taken.

But the cycles passed, and Starscream had completed his usual recovery procedures, once again forcing himself above the abuse. By now, he wanted his freedom back. He was not the sort of personality to be comfortable with staying in the same place for any length of time, and, as the vivid memory of the suffocating blackness eased itself from his recall banks, he began to once again delude himself into believing he could take Megatron.

Despite his convincing himself that he was better than his leader, Starscream still did not disobey. Subconsciously, he didn't dare. He spent the lonely cycles perched upon his recharge berth, watching the wall and plotting.

His torn-off wing was perched sadly against the berth. For whatever reason, he hadn't been able to agree to have it melted down for scrap, despite that it was completely useless now. Because of the way it had been broken, the ripped edge was sharp and raggedly uneven, and there was no hope of ever reattaching it to a seeker. But Starscream kept it. He didn't know why.

He watched the wall with tired red optics.

Now that his higher functions had fully recovered, he was able to better remember what had happened between Megatron leaving him in the darkness and his losing all awareness.

At first, he had thought that he would become used to being blind, and would relax. He'd been wrong about that; instead of becoming easier to bear, if anything, the loss of his sight became harder. Power that would usually supply his optics was redirected to his audio receptors, meaning that he heard even the slightest disturbance and flew even further into a panic. Eventually, his cognitive functions had been unable to cope with the terror and had just... shut off, leaving him in the semi-conscious delirium that Thundercracker had found him in until he offlined altogether.

But, he told himself as he grit his teeth in defiance after the harsh treatment, he had survived, and he was stronger for it. _He _was the only one he needed. He'd survived without _anyone_ helping him through, once again it was _Starscream_ who would have the last laugh...

He was strongest on his own.

Without meaning to, he found himself thinking about the Autobot. Somewhere in his spark, he wanted to blame the scientist for this – but he found himself unable, and that confused him. Usually, he would have no trouble finding some other mech to blame for his troubles, for his shortcomings, for his failures... but, for some unfathomable reason, he could not bring himself to place the fault with his mate. Perhaps it was because that, through everything of the last stellar cycle, Perceptor had invariably been there whenever he was summoned, to offer his idealistic drivel about trust and friendship, to offer his soothing fond strokes.

Part of him wanted Perceptor there to touch, to hear those stupid sentimental Autobot words and feel those kind caresses. Part of him cowered at the thought of the microscope seeing him like this.

It was then that he remembered to reconnect the communicator. He'd diverted power from it the instant that Megatron had touched his eyes. He hadn't wanted Perceptor to hear his screaming.

And on the topic of Perceptor...

Almost as soon as he resupplied the communicator in his chest with energy, he heard his scientist's voice, worried and somehow subdued, as though it had lost a measure of its usual life.

_Starscream...? You're alive?_

He snarled, caught in an antithesis of both wanting to talk to the one mech who would not mock his misfortune and wanting to flee away from all contact, feeling weak and exposed.

_It seems that way, doesn't it?_

The response was sarcastic and rude, the tone dropping near the end in such a way that it should have made it obvious Bat he had no interest in continuing the interaction. For a short while, it seemed as though the Autobot had taken the unsubtle hint.

Then the meek voice sounded again, listless and almost hopeless. It took Starscream by surprise, partly because he was not used to such a tone from the annoyingly optimistic Autobot and partly because of the content of the request:

_Please come to me, here, now, _a series of co-ordinates flashed through into the jet's processors, _I need to see you._

Starscream found himself rising from his berth; while the communicators had been installed primarily for his own demands, it was understood that both partners could use them to organise meetings. Despite this, Perceptor had never called Starscream out. It had always been the other way round – the microscope had always been happy to settle for whatever his domineering mate demanded.

Which meant that there was something wrong – if that wasn't proof enough, then the dull tone of the microscope's usually quite expressive voice was a sure giveaway.

So he needed to see his Autobot, if there really was something wrong. He told himself it wasn't worry. He told himself he wasn't concerned. He told himself that it would just be good for him to get out and burn off the boredom that had latched on to his processor.

Screw Megatron and his rules. Besides, he reassured himself, if he was called to see the Decepticon leader upon his return, he would know to expect a punishment – and thus be able to defend himself. No more being caught unaware.

His mind made up, Starscream strode with purpose out of his quarters and towards the docking bay of the sunken Decepticon starship, always glancing furtively this way and that to make sure that he was not seen.

O

It was not often that Perceptor was first to any designated meeting area. What with being grounded and having no vehicular form (admittedly, his alternate mode did have tracks for limited travel, but people tended to notice a microscope zooming down the road – it wasn't the most subtle of things), he did often have trouble reaching the secluded points in good time.

This time, though, he had been the one to call Starscream. Once Ratchet had finished repairing the backs of his legs, which had taken far longer than usual, as Perceptor insisted that the medic see to Beachcomber and Skyfire first despite their protestations that he was worse off, he had quietly taken his leave, hardly even caring if anyone saw him disappear from the Ark.

At first his only intention had been to walk. Possibly to mourn.

And it wasn't just because, at that point, he was still convinced that Starscream had been killed by the merciless Decepticon leader.

The venture to Vesuvius had been a disaster. Perhaps the only positive point about the ambush was that none of the Autobots had died – but that didn't ease the guilt weighing heavily on the pacifist microscope's shoulders.

He'd learned, retrospectively, what those explosions had been. Overshot missiles, crashing into one of the northern suburbs of Naples. A small part of the area called Miano had been destroyed, completely razed to the ground by the power of the Cybertronian weaponry. Almost a thousand people so far were injured, missing or confirmed dead.

Humans, who had nothing to do with this pointless war, wiped off the face of their own planet. In order to save the life of a killer, Perceptor had taken the fighting across the sea and endangered a group of natives who had, up until then, managed to avoid being mixed up in the conflict.

And the knowledge that, if it meant Starscream would survive, he would consider causing the destruction of even more of the organic life did not make Perceptor feel much better. Since when had he been willing to throw away his ideals for a Decepticon?

... but Starscream was...

Part of his mind protested his guilt. What did the humans matter? They were weak and fragile and this world was a slave to the law of 'survival of the fittest'. The humans were no longer the fittest to survive. But Perceptor knew that this part of his mind was carrying sentiments that he had borrowed from his bondmate, they were not his own beliefs. All life was sacred to him. It was to be studied, not extinguished.

Understandably, he felt ill at the carnage that he had indirectly caused.

But he'd panicked, when he gave the location of the survey to Starscream. He'd felt as though his left side was being ripped open, and he'd been sure that his mate was being killed. He'd panicked. Not that that was really an excuse.

The connections between them had cut off, gone completely numb, as though they had never existed. Perceptor was sure that Starscream was no more. His worry for his mate's safety had turned into sorrow as soon as the adrenal chemicals that had coursed through his limbs at the Decepticon ambush had diffused.

Megatron had shot his legs to pieces in the attack – the silver gun-transformer had not been aiming to kill, but rather to first disable his prey to face whatever nefarious treatment at his hands. Luckily, Skyfire had reached him just in time, had snatched him away from the cruel grasp, but he could not walk without help until Ratchet had carried out the surgery to replace the shredded metal plating. He'd insisted that Skyfire and Beachcomber be treated first, despite that their injuries were much less serious, in a way of apology to them, though they could not have known that.

Ratchet was indeed a medical genius. Now that the repairs had been completed, there was no sensation that there had ever been damage to the red panels. Perceptor was again able to walk without support, and he had taken the opportunity to leave the Ark and be alone with his thoughts.

He wondered what he could do to atone for his treachery, even though the Autobots were not aware of it. He wondered if there was anything he could do to make up for the human losses – despite that Prowl had, rather coldly, referred to it as 'collateral damage'.

And he knew that he couldn't cope with this again.

Out of the blue, the soul and mechanical connections to his partner had opened again. At first, Perceptor hadn't believed it, he had feared that someone – possibly Megatron – had found the communicator in Starscream's lifeless body and taken it. But thankfully that was not the case.

Starscream was alive. He'd heard the high-pitched voice again, rude and thankless as ever, echoing through his processor. He'd requested for them to meet. As far as he knew, Starscream had acquiesced.

So now he waited, in the canyon he had strolled into, staring dully at one of the cacti that rose from the ground.

Faintly, from some distance away, but growing louder, came the rumble of engines. This time, Perceptor's spark jolted, and he turned his blue eyes skyward in anticipation. Sure enough, the familiar terrestrial fighter jet became visible over the horizon from the east, tilting low to dip down between the cliffs on either side of the crevice.

... was it Perceptor's imagination, or was Starscream seeming to bank perpetually to the right? It was almost as though he was favouring his left side for some reason...

And then the Decepticon landed and transformed, standing at an angle to his mate so that his left wing was pulled back and slightly hidden behind the rest of his fuselage. His dark grey face was drawn into a snarl, as though he would rather be anywhere but with the Autobot scientist.

"You're alive..." Relief seeped through the microscope's tone, finally able to believe it now he could see the cruel jet standing before him, real and corporeal. "I'm glad..."

"Keh." Snerked Starscream, turning his red optics away.

Perceptor took a step towards the Decepticon, and, as he did, the seeker's left wing came more into his line of sight, the purple insignia there perfect and unmarred. Was it just him, or did the grey of the wing not quite match the grey of the rest of Starscream's body...?

More out of his own desire to be held and comforted, Perceptor reached his arms towards his partner. Unexpectedly, however, Starscream shied away quite abruptly, snatching himself back and snarling.

"Don't_ touch_ me!"

Uncertainly, the microscope nipped at his lower lip and poked his index fingers together, seeming to draw courage from the rejection. "Look, Starscream, I... I can't do this any more."

That got the jet's full attention. "What?"

"I can't do this. If I have to sell my people out again, I... I just can't. I'm not strong enough to make those sorts of decisions."

Sneering, the jet shrugged. "Ha, what's hard about that? Of course_ I_ should come first!"

Perceptor met the red optics with his own light blue. Was it just his mind playing tricks on him, or were they shining brighter than usual?

His voice lost its lilt when he started rattling off statistics. "At least six hundred injuries, unknown percentage of those critical or potentially life-threatening. One hundred and fifteen confirmed deaths. Almost two hundred missing and unaccounted for. Unknown number left homeless."

The jet was smirking sadistically at this. He didn't need it explained. "Human casualties at that science trip of yours?" At Perceptor's single nod of verification, the Decepticon flier sneered again. "What does that matter? They're of no concern to us."

"I'm not a warrior. I'm not a killer. I'm a scientist – a _pacifist_." The blue-eyed scientist exhaled sadly. "To me, _all_ life is sacred. Who am I to take it away? But I caused all this by selling out my people to save you. I can't – I can't cope with something like this happening again. I can't keep doing this."

If Perceptor had been able to bring himself to look at his mate's face while he was struggling to say those words, he would have seen the expression darkening. As it was, his gaze was fixed on the ground, and he did not see the warning signs. The first he knew of it was when Starscream started to shout at him, his voice high and hoarse.

"Leave me? How dare you even consider it!"

Summoning all his bravery, trying to ignore the fierce anger assaulting him through their bond, Perceptor forced himself to meet Starscream's bright eyes.

"I'm sorry." He couldn't find his voice to say anything else.

Something flashed over the dark face, though Perceptor could not analyse what emotion it was before Starscream was once again voicing his displeasure.

"How dare you!" It was a terrible crescendo. "Did you forget!? _I own you_!" For the first time since his time as a Decepticon prisoner, Perceptor remembered why Starscream was so feared, and he backed away from the enraged officer, optics widening. He hadn't had the jet's wrath on him for so long, he had forgotten how dangerous a mech he really was. The dream had ended, and reality was rearing its cruel and bestial head. "How dare you even consider leaving without my permission!"

And Perceptor stumbled back, cowed, too afraid even to protest that he and Starscream were equals in their relationship. As the jet glared at him in disgust, he reached out with both hands, yearning to be held, to be forgiven.

"_Don't touch me_!" Starscream shrieked, lashing out in what seemed to be more reflex than conscious action. His backhand caught the Autobot across the face, knocking him to the floor.

The burning red optics stared down at the fallen Autobot for astroseconds before Starscream abruptly transformed and disappeared into the sky, though Perceptor could feel the vengeful anger through his spark as he watched his retreating mate.

Blankly, as though struggling to process what had just happened, he raised a hand to the side of his face, running his fingers over the shallow depression that now marred the pale metal, not bothering to move from where he had landed. Starscream had _hit_ him. Sure, they shot at each other whenever they met on the battlefield, but he'd thought they had an understanding that their private meetings were supposed to be tender...

If he was any other Autobot, perhaps he would have given up then and there, retreated to the Ark and started again. But any other Autobot would not have come this far, not for Starscream, and Perceptor was cursed with, as his name suggested, intelligence and rather extraordinary perception.

Starscream _had_ been acting oddly, now that he could think about it rationally without having his raging bondmate over him.

There had been something wrong with his eyes – they didn't usually shine that brightly, even when he was in a good mood. It was almost as though the Decepticon had been purposefully directing excess energy to the optical sensors... but why? And there was something off about the left wing. All the scratches were gone, and Perceptor was convinced that it was a slightly different grey to the rest of the seeker's chassis.

And Starscream seemed more afraid of being touched than he had been for a long while now. Perceptor had watched the Decepticon slowly conquer his phobia over the last stellar cycle, had watched as Starscream stopped quivering uncertainly at caresses and was able to even relax at the grey-fingered strokes. Now it seemed like everything had been undone.

Perhaps for anyone but Perceptor, such rough treatment would only have cemented the decision to be done with this relationship and let it go. After all, Perceptor _knew _he deserved much better at his mate's hands, after all he had sacrificed to keep them together.

But... as much as he didn't want them to, he felt his convictions shudder and begin to weaken.

No, he had to stay strong! This had to end, it was unholy and unlawful - a mistake! It should never have happened, this bond between them, and his continuing it and_ enjoying_ it was only worsening the taboo of it. He'd told himself that he wouldn't keep throwing away his ideals. No matter how much Starscream's contrary personality was affecting him, he had sworn to himself that he would keep his beliefs and fight for what he knew to be right. He'd thought they'd agreed that back when they'd first made their connection mutual.

Leaving was the only choice, because he couldn't risk another Vesuvius. For someone like him, who owed _everything_ to the Autobots after they had saved his life and nursed him back to health from the brink of mental collapse, to have sold them out so easily and caused such a high number of deaths among the indigenous population was... unthinkable.

... That was ridiculous. He couldn't deny that Starscream was sick, and what sort of crusader for justice was he if he couldn't even help the people right in front of him? But he wasn't even sure if Starscream _deserved _his help, not after all he had done, all he had claimed to be, all the kills to his name and all the suffering he loved to cause.

Perhaps it was the way that Starscream had shrieked... perhaps it was the way that he had blindly struck out. Just like a wounded animal, thoughtlessly shielding himself from _anything_ that might possibly turn to hostility.

It would be so _easy _to open his chest and pull out the communicator, to smash it on the floor under his foot, to try and forget about... _everything_. But he didn't. Because, even though most of their secret meetings ended in their sparks joining, there were those times when Starscream was upset, when he just wanted to talk. Perceptor enjoyed those times the most. Starscream seemed almost sane during them.

Who would Starscream talk to if Perceptor gave up?

No, that was ridiculous, he couldn't keep meeting with the Decepticon. He couldn't. Not when they were beginning to arouse suspicion. There was too much at stake, his people would be so disgusted if they found out - they probably wouldn't trust him again after -

And he remembered the emotion that had flashed across the seeker's face when he had heard Perceptor's declaration that he would leave. Now that he had time to think about it clearly, without having the jet snap at him, he could see all too well what it was.

It had been _fear_. Starscream had been_ afraid_ when he thought Perceptor would leave.

But afraid of what? Afraid of being left alone? Afraid of all he had told the microscope? After all, all those secrets could be used against him. Was it just a simple fear at the thought of losing the attention? The air commander did so seem to crave it...

The microscope was nipping his lip in a new decision, uncertain at his choice but determined to see it through now he had made it; in defiance of everything sane, he was going to stick with his mate and do everything in his power to _help_. He understood that Starscream was not at all well – it was true that viruses affecting Cybertronian life were rare, but this illness was not physical. It had been staring him in the face since long before Starscream had been a refugee in the Ark, and it was probably not the type to ever be completely cured. Starscream himself had expressed with disgust that he did not want to be 'fixed'.

But Perceptor knew he could not stand by and do nothing now that all his hard work coaxing the jet to open his spark up and to accept his touch had been undone in less than three orns.

Heh... Megatron was brutal indeed.

Massaging his thumb gently over his cheek, trying to work the scrape from it, the microscope began his way back to the Ark, still caught in uncertainty, torn between what was right and what he wanted. He tried to justify himself by starting a mantra in his processor: leaving would be running away, fleeing from a challenge, not accepting the crimes – and that was not Autobot bravery. That would just prove him a coward, a useless and despicable coward. While it would not negate his sin of destruction, perhaps doing all he could for the Decepticon would redeem him somewhat in the eyes of Primus. Perhaps it was what he was fated to do.

It wasn't that he was completely altruistic, though he did sometimes tend to value others over himself – especially in the case of Starscream, for reasons he still didn't understand. For his own reasons, he wanted to stay with his mate, to be treated like a real robot instead of as an insentient machine. And... he _was_ worried about his lover...

The humans... he didn't know enough of Earth custom to be able to offer a way to repent in the eyes of the humans. Even though they didn't know it had been him to condemn them, he still burned with the desire to somehow set things right. Humans had funerals, just like Transformers did - but he could hardly go to the funerals of the casualties of his rash decision.

Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to make sure that the deaths were not in vain by seeing Starscream's salvation through to the end. Perhaps that was the _only_ thing to do.

Lost in such thoughts for the entire of his casual journey back home, Perceptor at first did not hear the concerned voice calling out to him as he approached the entrance to the crashed Autobot star-cruiser.

"Perceptor, I was looking for you!" It was Skyfire, coming towards him fast. Shaking his head at his perpetual inability to focus on more than one thing at once, Perceptor waved a hand in greeting.

"I just went for a walk." He saw the look of concern on Skyfire's face - it looked like the shuttle had started to speak, but had been distracted as he looked into the smaller scientist's eyes. "Is everything all right?"

Then he realised, too late, that good-hearted, kind Skyfire was not looking into his optics but rather at his white cheek.

"You're injured..." the shuttle murmured quietly. "What happened?"

Perceptor cursed at himself silently, berating himself for not being more careful about hiding his face. "I-I... I tripped."

There was a silence that drew out for several astroseconds past the comfort zone.

"You tripped." Repeated the larger Autobot in obvious disbelief, tilting his head to the side. "You tripped... and smashed your face."

"Uhm, yes," nodding even as he recognised how pathetic he sounded, Perceptor tried to elaborate his weak story. "I tripped and headbutted a rock." A nervous laugh. "Ahaha, you know how caught up I get when I'm thinking about things. Um."

The large white shuttle sighed, exhaling waste air from his vents. "You can tell me the truth, you know."

Perceptor smiled at the offer, knowing he really couldn't. "No, honestly, I caught my foot and went straight into the wall of a mesa. It's nothing to worry about, it's not at all painful. Well, haha, I'd best get in and fix myself up, can't have everyone worried."

And he fled inside without giving Skyfire a chance to say anything more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Salvation**

**Chapter 6**

Human energon was red like Decepticon optics. Mm, and it tasted like bad copper alloy. Who would have thought that so much of it would spurt out of such a small body before the life processes actually stopped functioning?

There was something thrilling about they way that humans came apart so easily and couldn't be connected back together – just like very poorly constructed Transformers. And, of course, no self-respecting Transformer could _ever_ scream like an anguished flesh-beast.

As leverage for a deal involving copious amounts of free energy, Megatron had taken a hostage from one of the large electric companies of Japan. Even though the helpless, mindless insects had agreed to sacrifice a good amount of their generated power to the Decepticons, the merciless tyrant had turned the human over to his sub-commanders for their amusement. Soundwave, as always, seeming to be interested in 'higher things', the disposal had fallen to the Aerospace Commander.

Apparently, Megatron had forgotten completely about his promoting Skywarp to the position – either that or he had never intended to do such a thing in the first place. The power shift was not at all mentioned, and the gun-transformer continued to give commands to Starscream in the assumption that they would be carried out with the seeker's usual measure of loyalty (or lack thereof). So it was to the red jet that the pleasure of dismembering the flesh beast had fallen.

Starscream had taken the unfortunate captive apart with murderous contempt.

He'd been amused by how loudly it wailed after having its shoulder welded to the wall. He'd laughed when a shot from his null ray caused it to cough up red energon and leak translucent fluid from its optics instead of disabling its biological circuitry. He'd cooed in mock-compassion when its epidermal layers started to melt off. He had unleashed all of his hatred onto it, rending flesh and cracking bones, tossing the fragile creature about carelessly; he'd intended to do much worse, but it had expired after he'd torn both of its legs from the main body.

After it had expelled flows of pulmonary fluids from its mouth, he'd thrown it around a bit more until it went rigid and stopped leaking energon. He'd taken a moment to marvel at the death throes and to bend those delicate arms back on themselves once they were stiff with rigor mortis.

He found a glorious excitement in the moment the light left the eyes. It was the same on a battlefield; he liked to be close to his victims, to hear them shrieking and begging for his mercy, to whisper false hopes into their audio sensors, to watch the optics deaden to nothing as he extinguished the laser core...

Silently, he thanked Megatron for the toy, which had been a much-needed outlet for the new disgust he felt at all of the indigenous humanoids on this accursed planet. True, he'd dissected plenty of the little frags before, sometimes while they were still howling for him to stop, but he'd always held them with disdain in the knowledge that they were inferior. He'd never _hated_ them quite so much as he did now.

Because, thanks to the humans, he'd almost lost what was his by right. Because they _died _so easily, in hundreds, and because their technology and their settlements were not able to stand up to the explosions of even the weakest of Decepticon artillery, Perceptor had tried to _leave_, feigning _guilt _at the carnage.

If he had cared to, he would have only driven himself further in fury upon tracing the guilt back firstly to Megatron for dealing such a harsh and damaging punishment compared to the usually much-milder retribution, and then, ultimately, to himself for not being more careful and underestimating his leader's intelligence. In retrospect, he probably should have known better – but the blame did not lie with him. The blame _never _lay with him.

Even the memory of the stuttering microscope trying to explain that he was too powerless to carry on their games caused him to snarl and bare his teeth, even more so because he could not see _why_ the Autobot's weakness irritated him so much. The most logical reason he could think of was that, after investing so much of his time in the meek scientist, he had hoped that there would be some sort of difference in the personality, some sort of change to take away the ridiculous misplaced compassionate pacifism.

And then he stopped himself, ired more in his confusion when he wondered if he really _wanted_ Perceptor to change.

"Starscream!" Megatron's voice, distracted, distant and detached, dragged the lieutenant out from the antitheses of his cerebral processors to ill-tempered attention. The silver warlord stood in the threshold to the room the air commander had dismantled the human in, glaring approvingly at the blood-soaked officer and the chunks of scorched flesh. "Dispatch your seekers. I want an immediate scramble."

"Coordinates?" Grumbled the jet roughly, riling habitually under the tyrant's scrutiny while idly toying with the remains of the lifeless human corpse between his fingers until its head came off in his hands.

"The head office of that energy company in the east." Megatron nodded his head towards the mortal remains of the salaryman in clarification. "Obliterate it."

And the savage officer smirked as yet another opportunity to distract himself appeared before him, dropping the head to the floor as he straightened to his full height. It hit the floor with a sticky thud and landed propped on one of its protruding audio receptors, the expression a grotesque mask of frozen horror. "With _pleasure_, Megatron."

O

Although he knew he should have expected such a thrill of sick excitement, as it was not an unusual emotion from his sadistic bondmate, Perceptor still found himself nipping at his knuckle in distraction, wondering vaguely what the Decepticons were up to. He'd known that they were causing some sort of devastation, for Prime had ordered a counter-attack not half a cycle ago, and the select soldiers had hurried away in Skyfire's bulk. He didn't know where they had gone. He was not a warrior and knowing their destination was of little relevance. He just had to be ready to carry out repairs upon their return.

Solitary by nature, Perceptor did not make any attempt to seek out company while waiting to be needed, much preferring the time he had been granted to be alone with his own thoughts. As he'd already compulsively organised both his and Ratchet's surgical implements (the chief medic had accompanied Prime and the defence force, just in case any of them needed urgent battlefield repairs), he had little else to do but to lose himself in his own considerations.

Uncertain about his own motives for sticking by Starscream, Perceptor had chosen to purposefully avoid as many of the other Autobots as he could. While it was true that some contact was inevitable, he stayed for long periods in his laboratory, every now and again resuming work on the aerial propulsion system he had begun to design deca-cycles ago. He'd never finished it, it just lay discarded and out of the way in a corner.

Even when he had little else to do, he didn't really do much other than compulsively disconnect and rewire one of the thrusters, as his mind was entirely elsewhere.

Starscream. Starscream. _Starscream_.

Now he'd had time to rationalise without being impeded by emotions and spur-of-the-moment impulses, he had drawn several conclusions about the state of his partner, which, in some ways, made it both easier and harder to accept the choice he had decided to stay with. On the one hand, working out what damage the seeker had sustained meant that he could understand why the disagreeable jet acted the way he did and knew how better to help. On the other, it just highlighted the danger that he was putting Starscream in – that Starscream was putting _himself_ in.

The wing. It had been bothering Perceptor. The lack of old damage, the slight mismatch of grey compared to the rest of the Decepticon's body – that it was _not _the original wing was obvious enough, it certainly didn't need the microscope's intelligence to work _that_ out. From the way that Starscream had instinctively lashed out at the possibility of physical contact, the original limb had likely been lost, and painfully at that. Shattered or shot off, probably.

It was the red optics that puzzled Perceptor more; they did not need to glow anywhere near as brightly as they had. Excess power was surging through them wastefully, he was sure of it – but was that a conscious choice of Starscream's, for whatever unfathomable reason, or had blunt cranial trauma caused the circuits in his head to glitch?

And then there was the problem of Skyfire...

Skyfire. Primus bless him, he was only concerned for Perceptor, and, though the microscope did not want this attention and found it awkward and troublesome, he was quietly pleased that the white shuttle was friendly enough with him to try and help.

Since foolishly allowing his fellow scientist to see his scraped face, Perceptor had become aware of Skyfire watching him much closer than usual. Ha, he'd always been a poor liar. Despite his adamant persistence that he had thrown himself head-first into a cliff face, Skyfire obviously did not believe him. His concern could prove... troublesome.

Above all, Perceptor... felt _sorry_ for Skyfire. The shuttle was in a no-win situation. It was a choice between knowing that Perceptor was lying to him, or learning that his microscope friend was willingly submitting to the vicious Decepticon he had once loved. Perceptor didn't really know which would hurt him more.

Oh... he would never admit it to anyone, least of all Starscream himself, but how Perceptor longed for his mate to just _comfort_ him. Just to chase all worries away, to just _be_ there... even if it was a lie. But that was not Starscream, the Decepticon would _never_ deign to anything less than a predominantly physical partnership.

In truth, it made him question why he was still willing to remain loyal. This journey with Starscream had taken him to the Pit and back, he was risking so much – and for what? What was the relationship, in all honesty? Nothing more than a mockery of what should be, a shadow of reality. An enjoyable lie. A dominance game he played to lose.

But, through all of his doubts, the fact remained that, even though it was strained and unstable and unlawful, there was still a bond there. An indelible, undeniable joining. And, still, he reached the same answer every time, that he would remain Starscream's... just a bit longer.

O

"_Take_ it!" With tremendous force, the cobalt hand clasped over the white-lipped mouth and slammed the microscope's head back into the dirt even as his other hand caressed slowly down the red waist. A slow smile crept over Starscream's dark face as he stared down at his bondmate's wide azure eyes, well aware that Perceptor was trying to speak around the metal obstructing his mouth.

His mood lightened wonderfully by the senseless devastation he had left in his wake while destroying the humans, Starscream almost purred as he held the gaze of those light blue optics. His spare hand trailed over the sensitive solder at the base of the Autobot's examination tray. Perceptor jerked beneath him _most_ intriguingly.

"It's just what you deserve," he crooned, tracing the seams of the angular face with his fingers gently, "for trying to run away from me, hmm?" And he released the lips from his hand only to steal a kiss from them, rough and dominating.

The feeling of Perceptor's barely-there trembling under his touch teasing him to new levels of excitement, Starscream threw his head back away from his smaller partner to let out a shock of exhilarated laughter, digging his fingertips in, smoothing his dark lips with his glossa as his helpless mate arched again.

Tightening his grip until scratches were left, sneering at the grimace that flashed across the emotive white metal before him, the Decepticon lieutenant began to nip at the tender metal by the nape of the microscope's neck. The mild Autobot's optics dimmed.

At first when Starscream had called out and demanded an immediate meet-up, Perceptor had been hesitant, unsure of his ability to escape from Skyfire's watchful optic. However, over two cycles had passed since the return of the defence party to the Ark, and all necessary repairs had been carry out; Skyfire had been distracted talking to other friends. Perceptor made good his chance.

The jet was certainly in a better mood than he had been before, the Autobot not wanting to consider the reason for the sudden good-humour, convinced it was due to whatever had passed at the recent attack. Compared to the injuries sustained by Prime's defence, Starscream was damaged very little; lines of carbon scoring marred his exostructure here and there, but apart from a near-circular laser puncture in the waist near his nosecone there were no open wounds.

And even that injury did not seem to pain him; immediately upon Perceptor's arrival, Starscream had leapt upon him, slamming him down to the ground and beginning to pummel him with blue fists. Perceptor had nearly panicked. He'd even thought of that bomb that still nestled among the seeker's neural nets, considering detonating it and escaping what an irrational part of his mind interpreted as endless anguish approaching.

Then Starscream had kissed him, running his fingers over the limbs he had been hitting, soothing the abused metal and smoothing over the light scraping his rough treatment caused. And yet, before Perceptor could become used to _that_, Starscream's hand was over his mouth again.

It was a strange antithesis of pain and pleasure, of punishment and reward. He quivered and whimpered; he could do little else. Even if he had coordinated the control over himself to try and push Starscream away, it would have achieved little, for his mate was larger, stronger and had an advantageous position.

In fact, the only thing that was outwardly wrong with the jet, other than the odd mixture of abuse and tenderness (which he had already revealed was because of the Autobot's attempt to leave), was that his eyes still glowed brighter than they should, shining unerringly scarlet. Still Perceptor could not for the life of him work out why that might be.

"You're being very quiet today." Observed the air commander, speaking in a murmur against his partner's cheek. Beneath him, Perceptor shifted uncomfortably, his own grey hands fisting in the dirt; he'd learned his lesson about trying to touch Starscream at the moment. In answer, rather than speaking for he did not trust his voice, his optics flared blazing azure.

Starscream merely smirked at the silence, his fingers closing over the base of the examination tray, dragging across it in tantalising patterns. Practise and experience leant him their gifts; he knew how to make his microscope scream.

"Oh!" Jerking again involuntarily, Perceptor couldn't help himself as Starscream brushed the sensitive plating over his stomach, impulses firing from the wires beneath. "... d-don't stop, I -"

The rest of his words were swallowed by Starscream's hurried kiss; the Decepticon had claimed those lips as soon as he realised that Perceptor was going to keep speaking. He knew that pleasured mechs lost control and he didn't trust what he might hear. He had always stopped the microscope from blurting out like that. Though he encouraged shrieks and preferred his victims vocal, he would still sometimes silence the microscope when the eloquence worried him.

The thought of what could come spilling from the Autobot's mouth unnerved and perhaps even scared him – the possibility of promises of devotion and love was not small, knowing Autobot sentiments, and he didn't want Perceptor to tell him anything like that; it would shatter what little they had. Love was for fools. It had no place in this bond. It never had.

Seeing his mate scrabbling at the dirt with his hands, Starscream growled deep in his throat again, the vibrations passing through his mouth and against his smaller partner. Easing his hold only so he could expose both their spark chambers, he lowered himself onto the Autobot, who tensed and whimpered again. Starscream licked his lips, knowing those whimpers would turn into delicious loud cries at his hands.

Something was bothering him; the feeling of eyes on the back of his head nagging at his cerebral processors. Although it was probably some Earth fauna, Starscream's lack of faith in his own credibility had given him a distinct wary distrust of most everything else, and he found himself looking up towards the bushes in front of him.

A pair of glowing azure optics stared back, half hidden behind thick underbrush, and he started in mild surprise, feeling Perceptor shudder in complaint beneath him as the movement ground their pelvic gimbals together uncomfortably.

As he focussed on the shadowy shape, his sensitive optics making out the harsh outlines of another Cybertronian, the new Autobot's identity became clearer. Starscream grinned in a savage thrill of arousal as Skyfire stared down at the two coupling partners in guarded disbelief.

At the realisation that it was his old lover watching him pleasure his new Autobot pet, Starscream was swept away by a wave of excitement. He _thrived_ on having eyes on him, on having attention on him - a surge of energy passed from into his smaller mate, who bucked beneath him and cried out loud, and the air commander could not help but shiver as his optics locked with Skyfire's. He hoped the white shuttle was hurting, seeing them together like this. To ensure that Skyfire could not mistake the situation as an attack, he made Perceptor shriek again, the jet's name falling from white lips in a most delicious moan.

Starscream was satisfied when Skyfire flinched and disappeared back into the bushes. Moments later, the quiet sound of retreating engines reached his audio receptors; he doubted Perceptor, as oblivious to his surroundings as he was at the moment, had noticed the other Autobot at all. So much the better, he thought to himself as he descended on his bondmate.

That they had been discovered was an unwelcome complication. He could deal with the consequences later.

O

This time, Perceptor was careful to be subtle upon his return to the Ark, making it into his own quarters and carefully smoothing over the dents and scratches to disguise them as battle damage and old scars, though he barely had the energy to do even that small job.

He expelled a sigh of contentment as he crossed the bridge towards the Autobots' supply of energon, meaning to collect a small cube to refuel. Vicious though he had been, Starscream had teased him to the most _intense _overload he had ever experienced – he'd actually _offlined_ for several kliks – and had then sat with him for a while.

They'd said nothing; Perceptor had still been trying to remember how to work his vocaliser and Starscream had been staring into the distance, his expression completely unreadable.

Eventually, without a word to his mate, the air commander had taken to the air, transforming and disappearing into the distance. Perceptor watched until even the glow of the afterburners had disappeared, then he, too, had returned to his own people.

Perceptor stopped walking as he saw another Autobot moving towards him. It was Skyfire. He gave a weak smile, hoping that he was not about to be interrogated about his well-being, and raised his hand a little in greeting.

Skyfire met his optics for a moment and then looked away, saying nothing as he walked on by.


	7. Chapter 7

**Salvation**

**Chapter 7**

Five orns later and still Skyfire wished he had been able to blindly trust his smaller microscope friend when he had said he had tripped into a cliff.

He'd known Perceptor was lying, and he'd been worried – why couldn't the truth be told? Was he being blackmailed by another Autobot? - so, when he saw the red-bodied scientist slip otherwise unnoticed from the Ark, it had been Skyfire's natural reaction to follow him, to make sure that everything was all right...

Oh, if only he hadn't been so concerned!

Whatever he had expected, to see Starscream and Perceptor together, joined on the ground in a secluded forest some few Earth miles away, on the other side of the city, was more shocking than anything that could have crossed his mind. At first, the shuttle had thought to shout out, to try and chase Starscream away when he had seen Perceptor knocked to the floor and viciously attacked – but something had told him to stay hidden, to keep watching; there had to be a _reason_ that Perceptor would come out to be beaten up by a Decepticon...

He thought his energon pumps had stopped when the two before him kissed.

At first he'd found himself panicking, almost hoping that it was hostile, because he could _save_ Perceptor if it was not consensual... and the sight of his old love kissing someone else made his power converter wrench sickeningly. It certainly _seemed_ that it was not mutual; after all, Perceptor's hands were still by his sides and he was rigid under the jet, there was a chance that it really _was_ an attack – but then the microscope had moaned and his optics had dimmed as he relaxed. There was no mistaking that expression of pleasure on his face as Starscream initiating a spark-bonding.

And then Starscream had looked up, and his blazing red optics, brighter than they ever were back on Cybertron, had met unashamedly with Skyfire's disbelieving blue. Skyfire's energon converter lurched again as an exhilarated grin swept over the dark face and the microscope beneath the Decepticon officer called the flier's name heatedly.

Seeing that, Skyfire hadn't been able to stay any longer. He'd stumbled back a few paces and transformed hurriedly, retreating back to the Ark, feeling dirty and intrusive and, above all, somehow betrayed. When Perceptor had come back, over a cycle later, he had barely been able to look at his microscope friend.

It was selfish and hypocritical, he knew that – what claim had he on Starscream, as the one who had told the Decepticon he could no longer see eye to eye with him?_ He_ was the one who had ended their love; he'd even gone one step further and defected from his partner's faction. Not only that, he'd shot Starscream from the sky in a fit of rare anger, sent the Decepticon seeker careening into a wall of ice.

So why did seeing Starscream with Perceptor _hurt_? Because, despite knowing he did not care for the jet any longer, he had hoped in some stupidly optimistic way that they could work everything out and go back to the way things were? Or was it because Perceptor was a friend and was able to have what he no longer could?

Absently, the white shuttle thought back to when he had asked Perceptor for an overhaul. They'd ended up talking about the past, about the Skyfire and the Starscream that had been and how easy life was on Cybertron. Uncertainly, Skyfire cycled air through his vents in frustration – had Perceptor already been with Starscream then, or had he been seeking the shuttle's permission somehow?

Above it all, there was the slight and nagging worry – what if Perceptor was _betraying_ the Autobots?

Perhaps it wasn't such an absurd thought, despite the fact that, prior to this orn, Skyfire would have sworn to anyone that asked that he trusted the other scientist with his life. After all, the microscope had seemed more on edge than usual at Vesuvius, and, though the chance of a Decepticon ambush _should_ have been extremely slim, he had kept urging caution and glancing to the skies. And the Decepticons _had_ attacked, hadn't they?

On the other hand, Megatron had seemed to target Perceptor specifically in that attack, shooting up the backs of his red legs badly enough to cripple him, sending him crashing to the ground where he had just lain motionless, limp and unable to defend himself. The silver tyrant was almost on top of the fallen microscope when Skyfire had rammed him out of the air and gathered up his helpless friend. Surely the Decepticons would take better care of their informants...?

Urgh, there was nothing to be gained by speculating without proof – he could make no judgements until he had heard what Perceptor had to say in his defence. Perhaps there was something he was missing.

Reasonable minded and fair-handed, despite the sense of betrayal that hung over him like the darkest storm cloud, Skyfire resolved that he would seek out his microscope friend and at least ask what in the name of the primary program was going on.

O

There was that same small distracted smile, the one that Perceptor almost always wore when Skyfire saw him these days. Disturbingly, the shuttle found himself considering wiping that expression from the pale face. He quashed the rising anger before it could run away with him.

"Perceptor?" The microscope stopped still, half-turning at the white shuttle's hallo. Beckoning his smaller friend into one of the many small storage compartments that opened onto one of the corridors leading away from the main bridge, as he had no wish to be disturbed when the conversation would likely be awkward anyway, Skyfire let his face stay sombre and drawn.

"Everything all right?" Asked the red Autobot, the expression on his face slightly bemused as Skyfire closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall tiredly.

"You're looking quite beat up." Skyfire stated, dimming his optics, completely unsure of how to word himself but resolute that he would find out the truth. Somewhere, he wondered why he was so affected by this – would he have felt slighted to the same extent if it had _not_ been Starscream that Perceptor chose...?

"Haha, yes, battle damage... I haven't got around to straightening it out yet." Now that he was suspicious, Skyfire realised that the laugh did seem rather forced. Perceptor was running his hands over the opposite forearms somewhat self-consciously, not quite managing to meet the other scientist's optics. Heh... the red-bodied microscope had always been a terrible liar.

"When was the last time you were in a battle, Perceptor?"

The smaller robot's sky-blue optics widened. He stumbled over his words. "I – uh, I –"

"It's not battle damage at all, is it?" Voice carefully devoid of emotion, Skyfire dropped his metaphorical bomb. "It was caused by Starscream, wasn't it?"

And the emotions that flashed through Perceptor's optics were most_ revealing –_ among the shock and confusion was a distinct vision of panic, of terror, no matter how hard the smaller mech tried to hide it.

"St-Starscream?" He stuttered, hedging wildly, looking for any possible verbal escape route while noting that Skyfire was between him and the door, blocking his fleeing. "N-no! ... Is this a joke? Why in the name of – why would _Starscream_ want to –"

Glaring at the wall, both irritated and saddened that Perceptor still would not trust him with the truth as well as that he was being lied to at all, Skyfire's deep grumble cut across the pathetic stammering. "There's no point lying to me, I saw you with him a few orns ago."

For a moment, it was all the normally excessively-eloquent Perceptor could do to mouth wordlessly, unable to meet Skyfire's eyes with his own. For that moment, Skyfire was silent, hating that he needed to carry out such an interrogation, but hating too that he felt so betrayed by this whole affair and unable to shake the worry that Perceptor was selling the Autobots to their enemies.

"You love him." It wasn't a question rather than a dull statement, but Skyfire watched the smaller scientist as though expecting an answer. Finally, Perceptor managed to look him in the eye.

"There's no love in this."

It seemed as though the microscope was resigning himself to the inescapable questioning, becoming braver and more confident by the instant. Skyfire envied him for that ability; it was taking all his self-control to keep his voice from wavering.

"I watched you spark-bonding." He admitted. Perceptor's expression was suddenly rather drawn, like he was trying his hardest to keep it unreadable. Skyfire kept going. "You must love each other."

A slight shake of the pale head. "There's no love in this."

Narrowing his optics slightly, Skyfire realised that there was no point pursuing that line of thought, as he was only getting the same repeated answer. Instead he tried another way, still not asking questions but giving bland statements and letting Perceptor speak in his own defence – but all he got in return were quiet responses, as equally blank in deliverance as his own.

"You let him hit you."

"I'm not big enough to stop him."

"You could have stayed away from him in the first place if it was that much of a bother. Perhaps you're giving the enemy information about us. Perhaps you told them we would be in Italy when we were."

"I – I'm not – I didn't –"

Here Perceptor cut himself off, confusion showing on his face, and looked at the floor. He began to nip at his lower lip, something that Skyfire recognised as a nervous tic – one of the microscope's many compulsive habits that shone through his expressive body when he was uncomfortable or excited. Knowing he had found an opening and would likely now receive intelligible answers, the shuttle kept probing, despite his friend's discomfort.

"I don't believe you." Stated the white researcher, his spark sinking in his chest even as he spoke the words. Somehow, he had hoped that, even though the discovery of the two of them together had upset him, Perceptor was still loyal to their beliefs. Now the chance of treachery was looking depressingly large.

Shaking his head, the red-and-turquoise Autobot spread his hands in a desperate appeal. "It's not like that..."

"He's a Decepticon. He spends his orns trying to kill us. Why go out to him if you're not selling us out?"

"We're spark-bonded, Skyfire, I _have_ to..."

"Why engage in such a thing if you didn't love him!?" Snapped the usually-patient shuttle, instantly regretting his loss of control when he saw Perceptor flinch and hold his own elbows tightly, turning his gaze down to the floor.

He didn't even know why he'd lost his near-limitless patience in those astroseconds. Perhaps it was because Perceptor was talking about the one connection that Skyfire had once longed to share with Starscream as callously as though it were nothing but an unwanted burden.

Exhaling a great ventful of waste air, Skyfire tried again, his tone more gentle this time. "Is he blackmailing you?"

At this suggestion, Perceptor frowned, looking quite offended. "Do you really think so little of me? I'm not a helpless sparkling. I know full well what I'm doing."

"Then_ what_ are you doing? Because at the moment I see no reason why I should not call Prime or Prowl in here and tell them of your consorting with an enemy officer"

"It's innocent, I swear it, I would _never_ betray my friends! Skyfire, _please_ believe me." If he watched his smaller friend carefully, he could see, barely there but just visible, the slight trembling of his limbs as he pleaded his innocence.

"Why else would you meet a Decepticon?"

"..." Nibbling at his lip as though it would help him think, Perceptor took a moment. When he spoke, he spoke slowly, as though he was still working the answer out in his head even as it fell from his lips. "I'm going to someone who needs me."

"Starscream?" Heavy disbelief carried in the tone, Skyfire knowing full well how independent Starscream liked to think himself to be.

In response, Perceptor shrugged uncomfortably, poking his index fingers together before giving any verbal reply. "Well, you know... It's nice to be needed for something other than my intelligence. I mean, I'm not good at social and I'm not a warrior. I _love_ learning, I _do_, but... well, it's like Brawn said. Where am I when you're all fighting?_ Sometimes_ I'm being useful." When he saw Skyfire about to interject, he held up his grey hands. "No, let me finish – Starscream, he... he just seems to want someone there. I don't think he cares if it's me or not, or if I talk to him or even if I _listen_. Just... whether he's overloading off me or telling me his troubles, he wants me to just be there. I can_ do_ that."

"You underestimate yourself." Skyfire observed curtly, the only answer he could think to give to the microscope's awkward and babbled derogatory introspection.

"Haha, you think so?" A smile, an amused shake of the head. "That's the best way I can think of to rationalise it, I'll probably change my mind again next breem and think of another reason. It's all so complicated. I'm still trying to work out the half of it myself..." Then the smaller robot seemed to remember that Skyfire was upset with him. "I – I mean –"

His taller friend cut him off suspiciously – but he seemed to have accepted the garbled and utterly inadequate explanation for why Perceptor would agree to meet a violent and erratic harbinger of destruction. "What about Italy? You_ knew _that the Decepticons would attack, didn't you?"

"Yes." Again Perceptor looked at the floor, hiding his face somewhat. His voice was quiet, barely audible. "Starscream told me that, that Megatron knew the expedition would go ahead. He was – uhm, he was worried about me I think."

"He wasn't at the raid." Skyfire pointed out coolly, his disbelief obvious.

"Megatron found out about... about, uh, us somehow." The soft-spoken microscope looked back up into his taller friend's glowing azure eyes, which seemed almost to flicker in something – concern? Pity? - when he spoke his next words: "Starscream was... incapacitated... oh Primus, Skyfire, _please _don't tell anyone about this, especially not – not Jazz, or Prowl..."

"Hmm? Why not? They should be informed. It's quite the potential security breach." He didn't know why he said it. He certainly hadn't meant to – making other mechs suffer, especially those he considered his friends, was not his idea of amusement. But somewhere he still knew that there was the possibility of treachery. "Scared they might think you're a traitor?"

Perceptor didn't even need to think about his answer. "No, I'm not scared they'll accuse me of betraying the Autobots. I want this war to end and the Decepticons to vanish as much as any of us. But... if anyone finds out, they'll all assume that I'm being tricked into this – just like _you_ did. I can't bear the thought of people thinking so little of me. I'm not a naïve youngling any more, I know exactly what I'm doing. It's my decision. I'll accept any punishment I deserve, but to have everyone think I am weak and stupid... that would be unbearable."

A long silence followed, far too long to be comfortable. The smaller of the two occupants of the storage facility began to shuffle awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot and glancing at the door almost longingly every now and again. In contrast, Skyfire was silent and still, gazing blankly at nothing as he worked through things in his mind.

So far, everything made sense... sort of. He understood as much as was possible to – not that that was much. How Perceptor could love someone like Starscream (because he surely would not consent to spark-bond with someone he did not love, despite how many times he claimed otherwise) was simply not understandable - and Starscream himself _never_ engaged in any activity unless there was something in it for him. What was _he _gaining from this to continue it...? Was Perceptor really giving him information? Or was it that the jet viewed the meek microscope as easy sex?

And then the memory of the circuit examination, of that painfully honest talk when he had spilled out his spark, laid it bare before the smaller scientist, bubbled to the surface of his recall banks again, plunging him back into his cold mood.

"Back when you gave me that overhaul and asked me about my relationship with Starscream," he started bitterly, "were you already bonded then, or were you wanting to know if I still cared for him before you went through with it?"

Whatever response Skyfire expected, Perceptor's sad smile caught him completely by surprise.

"We were together before that." The microscope's voice was almost quiet enough to be a whisper. "Since I was a Decepticon prisoner..."

"What?" And Skyfire found himself frowning in confusion. Some part of him began to suspect... but he didn't want to listen to it. He didn't want to believe it. "But Starscream – he was the one who tortured you, wasn't he? That's what _I_ was told."

"Yes, that's right..." Again the smaller of the two looked uncomfortable, memories that were hazy but exceedingly unpleasant teasing at his subconscious no matter how hard he tried to quell them.

An odd sense of indignation bubbled in the shuttle's white chest, mixing in swirls with the sickening theory he was trying to deny. Could his impression of Perceptor's pacifism have been so wrong? Or had Cybertronian law been breached so blatantly? He had thought that his smaller friend hated pain and death in all their forms, and Starscream... but how he hoped that it was a mutual partnership. "How could – how could you fall for someone like _that_!"

And Perceptor shrugged, ducking under Skyfire's arm to get to the door now that his taller friend was not trying to prevent his leaving.

"Like I said, there's no love in this bond." Fleetingly, an expression of awkward uncertainty flickered over the white face before he reached for the door and made to leave. Skyfire caught him by the arm even as his energon processor lurched, leaving a sick taste of stale energon in his mouth.

"Hold it," he commanded quietly, pulling Perceptor back firmly, "I'm not convinced. You haven't given me a single straight answer. Why should I take your word for it that this _isn't_ a breach of security? You're disobeying protocol. I should report you."

Turning his head away, Perceptor tensed his shoulders, his voice barely audible when he spoke. "That's your decision to make."

"Come on, I was honest with _you_. Time to repay that."

But Perceptor shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm... sorry. It's not easy for me. Please, Skyfire, if you don't trust me then I can't make you believe that I'm not betraying you – but it was never my intention to hurt any of my friends. Never."

In a surprising display of strength for one of his build, Perceptor wrenched his arm from the larger mech's grasp and disappeared out of the small room, away down the corridor. Skyfire did not think to give chase, seeing the hurt on the microscope's face, knowing the cause of it and still suspecting...

Not for the first time, he wished that he had the ability to blindly trust his red-bodied friend.

O

"You left without my permission _again_, didn't you!?"

"No." Starscream sneered, at total ease leaning against a berth where he should have been standing to attention. His irate master wheeled on him furiously.

"_No_!? Then who raised the docking tower, you Pit-spawned incompetent?"

"Probably that idiot Skywarp. He likes to go out and shoot at the aquatic lifeforms." Lied the air commander smoothly, relaxing further as his leader raged.

One of the black hands fisted compulsively; Megatron was obviously itching for something to take his frustrations out on. "Go and inform _all_ your worthless seekers that they're confined to barracks until further notice! _Nothing_ happens without my permission, understand?"

Starscream, the epitome of disobedience, could not help mocking his lord. "Permission to leave and tell my squadron of your orders, o' mighty Megatron?"

Megatron hit him a hard uppercut to the chin, sending his head smashing back into the wall. The silver gun-transformer glared as his officer slid to the floor.

"I will not tolerate insubordination!"

Rubbing his chin as he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, Starscream smirked up at the stronger Decepticon. "What's the matter? Can't you control your army any more?"

His words died to nothing in his vocaliser as Megatron began repeatedly kicking him in the neck. Stopping only when the impacts began to hurt his foot, the tyrant stared down at his lieutenant in disgust.

"Starscream," he growled with measured calm, lip curling in distaste at the seeker's energon spattered up his leg, "either you do as I say_ without_ questioning me, or I will personally see to it that that Autobot of yours is murdered. Understand me?"

"Keh, why should I care about what happens to some fool Autobot?" Was the murderous jet's hoarse reply, the words thick and unsteady, one hand coming up to massage his throat gently.

Before he could rub the tender metal, however, Megatron had grasped him by the neck and hauled him from the ground in one hand, bringing their faces uncomfortably close. The air commander only resisted the urge to bite at his hated master because he knew the retribution would_ hurt_.

"I've heard that losing a bondmate is the most painful thing any Transformer can undergo. I've never seen it happen myself. I'd simply _love _to give it a try, though." While Megatron's tone was mocking, his fiery red eyes were steely cold; he was deadly serious.

Starscream tried to sneer or smirk, just to give Megatron the impression that he was not afraid, but he could not hide the possessive anger that welled within him. Contemptuously, he turned his head away from his leader in a sign of his submission, though swearing to himself that he would, one day, best Megatron – without getting Perceptor killed in the meantime.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author Note: **I have added my own contribution to the fanart for this pairing and I am shamelessly plugging it – the link is on my profile, for anyone who is interested.

**Salvation**

**Chapter 8**

Starscream grit his teeth in frustration, kicking out at a dead tree trunk, taking little satisfaction in the way the rotting wood splintered under the force of his assault. Around him, the peat bog gave off the foulest of odours, a mixture of rotting flesh and decay. There was barely anything left alive in this desolate mess of sludge and decomposing biological waste. It matched his mood.

'Come out and meet me,' he'd said through the internally-wired communication link he shared with his mate. Not that that should have been a problem, it never had been before. 'Come out and meet me.' There'd never been a problem before.

But this time Perceptor had sounded strained and distracted and, above all, apologetic – he'd refused the command, for the first time since they'd installed those devices. Starscream pressed him, but he maintained he couldn't leave, not while he was being watched so closely by his white-bodied friend. Skyfire had found out, he had said, and was suspicious of his loyalties.

If the jet could have predicted what a problem Skyfire would turn out to be, he would have shot the shuttle through right there when he had first realised he was being watched.

Frag it all! Having eyes on him was exhilarating, yes, but the_consequences_... agh, if only he had some foresight sometimes! Starscream did not take being denied well. Furiously, he shot at another of the lifeless trees, though its explosion into several thousand tiny splinters did hardly anything to alleviate his ire.

Vengeful plotting simmered forth in his processors, and he swore to himself that the next time he saw Skyfire, the slagging glitch who kept ruining everything, that only one of them would walk away alive. Ohh, if only he had thought to kill his old partner when they had dug him out of the ice, then none of this hurt would ever have happened...

Well, there was nothing left for him to do out here now. Best to return to the sunken Nemesis before Megatron became suspicious of his absence. He could probably find some excuse to vent his anger on his hated leader.

Next time, though, next time Perceptor would learn to _never_ defy him again!

O

"Dear Primus," Ratchet took a moment to assess the damage and then snapped into action, rattling off orders and organising the other medically trained Autobots, knowing that time was of the essence if they were going to stand any chance of saving the injured mech's life.

The shot, hard to tell what it had been from, had penetrated through the epidermal metal of the chest, tearing through the inner circuitry and passing right through. It had been well-aimed enough to have hit the spark chamber, not cutting through to extinguish the core but doing enough damage to deactivate the huge shuttle and send him plummeting to the ground from his flight path.

Skyfire looked so... dead. That was the only real way to describe it.

Optics that were usually an expressive and soul-searching azure were greyed and unseeing. The mouth hung slightly open, dried of its natural energon by the ravages of Earth's atmospheric make-up. The limbs were limp and unresponsive. Wings usually so regal were dented by the crash; the wind shield that made up the cockpit in shuttle mode had split on impact with the ground and fully crumbled during the transfer back t the Ark, which had been rough and unsteady despite Ratchet's best efforts.

Apart from Ratchet's occasional quiet commands, the medical team worked silently and efficiently, each concentrating on repairing what they could best do while on such thin ice – one slip could disturb the weakened protective sphere of the laser core and send the pulsating life inside spiralling down into nothingness.

Perceptor was numb. Even if he had wanted to speak while he painstakingly rebuilt one of the crushed motherboards, even if he had had the concentration to speak while he slotted it back into its rightful place, he could not find the words in his processor. For once, he could not even _think_.

Hadn't he been wishing, just cycles ago, that Skyfire would leave him alone? Hadn't he been appealing to Primus for a moment when he could slip out and join Starscream? He knew that, by turning the seeker down, he could expect a 'lesson' the next time they met – part of him dreaded it – but Starscream only ever called him if there was something wrong. He had felt guilty and even ashamed he could not be there.

... Primus could be cruel.

When he'd prayed for just a moment when Skyfire dropped his careful scrutiny – he hadn't meant _this_. He hadn't wanted for something so terrible.

It wasn't anyone's fault; it couldn't have been predicted. Some cycles prior, while Perceptor had been busy with Wheeljack, Optimus had called for Skyfire, given him a delivery that needed to be taken urgently to the resistance forces on Cybertron, who were still composed mostly of renegade femmes. Cheerful as ever, obviously having no intention to relay his suspicions of Perceptor to Prime, Skyfire had accepted, and had left the Ark kliks later.

He'd been shot down before even entering the stratosphere – a relief, as, if he had fallen from any higher, the combination of Earth's strong gravitational field and dense geological crust (and thus the velocity of his descent and the impact force of his crash) would have caused his chassis to be liquidated.

Whoever had attacked Skyfire had disappeared long before the Autobot rescue team arrived on the scene after receiving the SOS frequency. None of the Autobots had had a visual at the time of the attack. No one knew who it was.

But, from the way Skyfire transformed into his alternate mode, it was not hard to work out that, from where the wound was and the irregular way it had damaged the interior working of his robot mode, he had to have been shot from above – and that he had been unable to call for help before sustaining his injury meant that his assailant had been fast enough to get within range before the white scientist had picked him up on radar.

Surely it had to have been one of the Decepticon jets. There was no one faster in the air. The sky belonged to them.

Perceptor knew of Starscream's achingly misplaced hatred of Skyfire – in fact, possibly everyone did after that dogfight they'd had in the Arctic, so many stellar cycles ago.

Could his bondmate have really...?

Finally, the worst was over, and Ratchet pronounced the deactivated shuttle to be in a stable condition at last, easing the worries of all three of his subordinates.

"He'll be fine," he murmured in his gruff voice, wiping his red hands together, a tense smile lingering about the metal of his face, "he just needs to sleep it off. Hoist, would you just make sure that there's no blocked energon capillary vessels?"

"Right away." Nodding, the deep green tow-truck began his examination, using a small surgical laser to melt any blockages so that the natural energon flow would wash them away to the central pumps as fluid waste.

"Other than that, his automated self-repair systems should be able to patch up anything we've missed as long as he remains in stasis for the next orn or so. Then again, the chance of him waking up in that time is very small."

"We should take it in turns to monitor him, just in case." Wheeljack pointed out tiredly, running a hand over one of his flashing audio protrusions.

"Mm, good idea." Acknowledging the suggestion, Ratchet turned his attention to Perceptor, who was still unable to look away from the recuperating Skyfire. "Perceptor, could you look after him for half a cycle? I need to check over Ironhide's cerebro-armour."

Wordlessly, still unable to collect his scattered thoughts, Perceptor nodded his acquiescence. As a mech trained somewhat in medical science, and as an occasional stand-in surgeon when Ratchet was otherwise engaged, gore had never bothered him before, even less so with where he'd been and what he'd seen. Never had the sight of an injured robot, whether friend or foe, made him feel quite so sick as he did now.

As Hoist finished his last examination, Wheeljack and Ratchet left the medical bay, the former to recharge his weary circuits and the latter on the hunt for a quick intake of energon before he resumed his gruelling duties as the Ark's chief medical officer.

Glancing up at Perceptor once, Hoist nodded a polite 'by-your-leave' before he, too, left the surgery.

Quietly, the red-bodied microscope leaned himself against the wall with a sigh, knowing better than to touch Skyfire now he was finally in a stable condition and wondering if this had been his fault for not being subtle enough.

Unbidden, fleeting glimpses of Skyfire's disappointed and uncomfortable expressions from their talk in the storage room several orns ago flashed before the optics in his mind. Unfeeling, he stared at nothing, torn between being thankful that his friend would make a full recovery and devastated he had been shot down at all. Starscream had -

No. No, that wasn't fair. He could hardly judge the jet without having proof that it was actually he who had shot down the shuttle.

Although, who else could it have been? Who had such a vendetta against the white researcher? Who wanted revenge or could hold a grudge for as long as could the Decepticon air commander?

... assuming it was a targeted attack and not just an opportunistic strike.

There was only one way to know for sure, Perceptor thought to himself as he stared blankly at the unconscious Autobot on the berth, poking his own index fingers together without even realising he was doing it, and that was to ask Starscream. Let the seeker speak in his own defence.

Hopefully, Perceptor would be able to tell if he was lying – though, knowing Starscream, he would take such a pride in his 'kill' that he would not bother to pretend he hadn't done it.

_Starscream...?_ The microscope tried through the internal connection, but there was no response. Repeating the name again, the scientist felt a flare of some alien emotion through his chest, which at least confirmed that his mate was alive and functioning, though probably in too much of a mood to answer. It had happened before.

Usually it meant that Starscream was in the middle of some activity and he didn't want to be disturbed or distracted. Sometimes it was something as mundane as taking pleasure in a slight victory over Megatron, other darker times it had been because he had been fighting for his life under his leader's brutal punishments for his repeating insubordination. He usually responded within a breem.

This time, though, the acknowledgement was longer in coming than it had been before, over quarter of a cycle passing before Perceptor heard his mate's voice in his processors again, curt and strained and waspishly impatient.

_What is it!?_

_Skyfire was almost killed,_ the microscope replied, quiet, his tone betraying no emotions only because he was not sure which to feel, _was that... was that you?_

_No,_ and Perceptor could almost see the sneer that would surely be on Starscream's face. His relief was short-lived, however, as a grating groan cut through his conscious, and he realised it had come though the communication device – from Starscream, _unngh, if I'd been there, though, I would have taken pleasure in it!_

Feeling inexplicably alleviated at Starscream's assurance he was_ not_ responsible for Skyfire's current condition, Perceptor found himself focussed on his next worry. There was something not right with his mate – it carried in his tone, in the tensed tone of his voice, in his staccato, clipped sentences...

_What is your position?_ He asked, feeling stupid the moment he had voiced the question, as surely Starscream would be in the sub-oceanic Decepticon starship, where he belonged.

To his surprise, rather than giving him the answer he expected, Starscream forwarded a set of co-ordinates to him. Computing them quickly, the scientist realised that they landed in a spot that was not too far away from the Ark. Oh, there was something _definitely_ not right.

Worry nagged at his spark. When Ratchet came back in not long after to take over monitoring the patient, the microscope slipped away from the Ark, wanting to know what was wrong.

O

Gingerly, Starscream raised a hand to his cheek and felt the gashes. One -- two -- and three, jagged depressions descending in vertical parallels to the seam from his optic to his chin. He would have massaged them to ease the ache if that didn't make his head feel worse.

As he sat on the trunk of one of the deciduous trees he had kicked down, he contemplated his current predicament, secretly surprised at his own strength for being able to fly here in a straight line without crashing.

It had been his own fault, not that he would admit or acknowledge that fact – he had been so caught up in agonising about Skyfire and the various bloody retributions he would deliver upon his old friend that he had not noticed Megatron watching him fiddling with the controls to the docking tower, lowering it after his not-so-subtle return.

The backhand had been for disobeying his orders. Everything else had been for lying to him.

Ugh, one day he would make Megatron pay for every single punch, he would count them as he threw them, slowly so that he could see his despised leader's face crumple in pain. Oh, if _anyone _could get Megatron to beg for mercy... he, _Starscream_, would have the last laugh.

His radar picked up a robot in the bushes, its size and build betraying it to be a ground-crawler. The jet tensed before realising what a mistake that had been, unable to stifle the yelp as white-hot agony seared his body from his collar.

"Starscream? Is that you?" Called out a meek voice, which, of course, the Decepticon recognised instantly as his partner's. Oh. _Frag_.

"Go away!" He shrieked roughly, not wanting to be seen in his current state. He tried to rise to his feet but fell forwards to his knees with a groan – apparently his injuries were deteriorating, for he had been able to fly here without too much of a problem. Close to panicky at the thought of being so vulnerable, he screeched at audio-splitting velocity, "Go away, _go away_! Get lost! _I don't want you here_!"

It was no use, Perceptor could be disgustingly stubborn when he thought he was in the right. Starscream heard the footsteps getting closer, fast and rhythmic, and then they stopped dead. He forced himself to sit back on the trunk he had fallen from, not wanting to seem so pathetic as to be crawling on the ground like a despicable organic beast.

Looking up, the jet saw his mate, standing a short distance away, frozen solid. The azure optics were wide and one grey hand was covering the pale mouth. If Starscream had had the mind to, he would have laughed at the ridiculous display of horror.

Perceptor, on the other hand, could not have been further from wanting to laugh. Oh, Primus above, how right he had been to trust his instincts and come out!

Starscream was – Starscream looked _terrible_, as though he had been sent to the Pit and back. Three vertical scratches marred the left cheek, ragged and imperfect. The new wing was no longer unblemished; the tip had been warped, probably by the heat of a fusion cannon. Hairline cracks ran across the red fuselage from a wound that oozed energon, exposed circuitry sparking and fizzing with crackling power.

Worst, though, by far the worst was Starscream's head. It was twisted back at an odd angle, as though it had been turned too far one way and then wrenched back into place, the dark helm grazing the side of one of the red shoulder vents. Oh, dear Sigma, Megatron had broken his_ neck_...!

"Wh-what happened...?" The Autobot managed, though he already knew the answer, his voice muffled a little as he spoke around his fingers, utterly horrified at the Decepticon leader's approach to dealing with his subordinates.

Starscream waved a dismissive hand. "He was in the wrong place at the wrong time and found me using the docking tower without authorisation. What the frag are you getting so worked up about!? It's nothing you haven't seen before, you weakling."

But Perceptor shook his head, stunned into silence for a moment before he started towards his mate again, reaching out. "I – you need – you need repairs –"

"No." Said Starscream curtly, snarling and baring his teeth. "Don't you touch me."

"Your neck," choked the Autobot, still stumbling forwards, "I can't – you need that looked at! Your central relay, with your neck at that angle, it'll be trapped, oh Primus, Starscream, there's no time to explain, you need it looked at right now! For _once_, will you just _trust me_!"

Instinctively drawing his shoulders up as his mate drew closer still and shuddering at the twinge the movement sent through his nervous relay, Starscream glared at the microscope suspiciously.

Later, when he looked back on the meeting in the deciduous wood, he would wonder why he gave in and allowed Perceptor to touch him. Perhaps it was the desperation he felt through their bond. Perhaps it was that the meek scientist had snapped at him. He didn't know.

But he did growl in ill-tempered acquiescence and turn his head to the side, his overly-bright optics staring accusingly at one of the still-standing trees. He was unable to repress a flinch as he felt fingers on his neck, opening a panel there.

Perceptor's hands were trembling almost too much to carefully move the various wires and arterioles aside as he searched for any trapped nerves or severed vessels.

"Oh, oh, thank the stars!" Honest and open, the scientist was unable to help himself, exclaiming in relief with what he found. "Just a twisted strut – Primus above, I was so worried..." diverting power from the microscope lens on his shoulder so that it would function as a surgical tool rather than an implement of death, Perceptor magnified the injury and warmed the metal so that it would bend itself back into its natural state without causing Starscream too much pain.

"Nnngh!" The jet complained, "Can't you be more careful!?"

Perceptor did not reply until he had finished the operation, standing back and then letting himself collapse to sit on the trunk next to his mate in overwhelming relief. First Skyfire, now Starscream – injured and, thankfully, going to be okay...

"Try that..." He murmured, turning his blue gaze on the battered officer.

Starscream turned his head from left to right before tilting it up and back. "Whatever. It's far from perfect, but I guess it'll do."

And Perceptor smiled, having spent enough time with the antisocial jet to know when he was being thanked for something – even if it sounded more like an insult than words of gratitude.

"So," grumbled the seeker, "you going to enlighten me as to why you were fritzing over that little injury? I've had worse, y'know."

"Oh Starscream, you fool," the microscope smiled sadly, "if your central nervous relay had been trapped for any length of time, you would have lost all control over your main body, and that includes your energon converter and main pumps... Primus, you would have_died_."

"Keh!" Starscream spat in indignation, "As though I would ever let that fool kill me!"

There was no response, Perceptor did not think to say anything; Starscream came out with these boasts so often that there was no point in trying to dissuade him from deliberately provoking the silver tyrant to be more and more violent in his punishments. The jet never listened anyway.

Now that he knew that his Decepticon partner was in no immediate danger, Perceptor's adrenal pumps ceased coursing chemicals around his body, and he found himself able to relax further and further. In truth, the Autobot wanted to rest his head against the protruding red vent on one of Starscream's shoulders, but he still was not sure whether the jet would accept his touch again.

"Starscream," he whispered, exhaling a ventful of air in a sigh, "will you... hold me? I... these last few orns have been so tiring, I was worried about getting to see you again like this..."

Sneering, the seeker turned his head away. "Heh, hold you? Pathetic."

"Come on, it's not that much to ask!" Perceptor turned to face Starscream, his voice conveying mild indignation. "Especially after all I put on the line for _you_!"

"I don't_ want_ to." Snapped the air commander in response, his already-bright optics flashing fiery vengeance. Perceptor was about to press the matter when he ran his eyes over the damaged fuselage. A wry smile fought its way across his face, showing some small amount of the barrage of conflicting emotions in him.

"Well... all right," he murmured, hoping that Starscream would be more willing to agree once his automated repair systems had had a chance to at least relieve some of the damage, "maybe later then."

He watched Starscream's face for some hope of an answer either way, but the Decepticon merely sneered.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author Note: **I was pleasantly surprised (and by that I mean that I was in throes of ecstatic glee) to find that there's been another illustration of this pairing drawn. **sJ-eP** on deviantart rendered a beautiful picture, the link will be up on my profile page.

Once again, I'm touched that this series is being enjoyed so much. Everyone, it's for you that I keep writing. Thank you.

**Salvation**

**Chapter 9**

"Well... all right... maybe later, then."

Starscream sneered at Perceptor's quiet acceptance of denial, both amused and frustrated at how easily the Autobot gave in. Though he would usually have viewed such a lack of persistence as yet another weakness of his helpless scientist pet, the blind hope with which it was spoken tugged at his spark unpleasantly somehow.

Mood lightened from his earlier murderous desire for vengeance and the aching in his neck fading with each passing astrosecond, and having managed to stomach fingers on him without lashing out in defence or screeching a protest, Starscream found his aversion to touching his partner slipping away from his processors in a fast and steady stream. Momentarily, he wondered at his own wariness before deciding to acquiesce.

Rigidly and without a word, the jet wrapped his arm about the microscope's shoulders and tugged the smaller mech in close. There was a resounding clang as Perceptor's head bounced off his red shoulder vent, an expression of stunned surprise flitting across the white face.

The seeker said nothing. Instead, slowly so as not to jar his still-tender neck, he turned his head away as though disassociating himself from any tenderness. Perceptor quivered, but, after barely a moment, relaxed in the secure grasp.

For just one wonderful moment, everything was as it should be, without prejudice or dominance or hate. Starscream found it naggingly worrisome, as giving himself to such softness did not come naturally to him, and he fought down the irrational but persistent fear that something was going to go wrong or strike out. Even Perceptor seemed fidgety at the disquiet in his mate, shifting a little against the jet's fuselage.

From the scientist's vocaliser came a small sigh, "Primus, I'm so tired."

Starscream didn't acknowledge, more because he didn't need to rather than any degree of apathy; Perceptor sometimes had the rather irritating nervous habit of speaking whenever he found a silence long or awkward – mostly just to fill in the lack of noise, very rarely saying anything with a meaning that was not jumbled about in stuttered sentences.

And the red-bodied Autobot leaned back against Starscream's arm, noticeably more at ease with each klik that passed. The jet tucked the smaller robot into the crease between his main body and his wing, the arm that was wrapped around the red chassis moving up slightly so he could smooth his blue thumb over the examination tray that made up his partner's chest. In response to the attention, Perceptor let his head slide back a little, resting the cranial join against Starscream's wing as he stared upward at the darkening sky.

"Everything's going wrong at once. The disaster in Italy, Skyfire getting shot..." Heaving another sigh, the microscope shook his head. "Megatron nearly killing you, I... should have been more careful. It was foolish to think it would be so easy. We're in the middle of a war, I... I did not stop to think about that..."

"Planning on trying to leave again?" The jet grunted threateningly. Rather than protesting his worth and free will, Perceptor merely smiled at the dominance in his partner's voice, dimming his optics a little as Starscream's cobalt hand slid down his waist.

"No, I've had time to think it through and I know that I want to stay with you for now." Toying with the idea of trying to explain himself when, even after all this time, he still didn't understand his own reasoning (or lack thereof), the red-bodied Autobot accompanied his words with a shrug. "I... I guess I like being with you."

The expression on Starscream's face was unreadable at those words, carefully and guardedly blank. Perceptor did not wonder at it, for it was an expression he had seen plenty of times before. Usually it appeared on the seeker's dark visage when he was debating whether or not to speak his spark to his mate.

Sometimes, though only very rarely, when something had upset him more than usual, Starscream would be relatively open and honest and spill his troubles into the winds for Perceptor to hear and respond to. Perceptor liked those times, where Starscream gave of himself instead of just taking. He preferred those times to the passion and the lust, no matter how good the jet could tease him into feeling. There was something about having the untouchable seeker trust him so much that was so perfect.

Without warning, and with a roughness that had to cause him discomfort considering his current state of disrepair, Starscream pulled Perceptor into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly about his partner's waist to prevent escape and letting his dark head fall forward to rest on a grey-ridged shoulder. Starting in mild surprise, not expecting the odd display of possessive tenderness and unsure of what he was supposed to offer, Perceptor hesitantly reached forward with his free hand, gently running his fingers over the seams in his mate's grey helmet in a smooth caress.

As was usual, Starscream tensed at the petting, but, this time at least, he did not lash out or pull away. Instead, a low growl emitted from his vocal processor, and he lifted his head up a little so his blazing crimson optics, which had not dimmed their unnatural brightness in the slightest, bore straight into the Autobot's light blue.

And then, with a softness that was not characteristic of his vicious nature, the air commander ran one hand up the scientist's back to cup the back of the light grey helm and bring his partner's head in so their lips could meet in a fleeting kiss. Just a kiss – there was none of Starscream's usual exuding dominance or battling for control, it was just a brush of metal over metal, a sign of affection.

The brightness of his blazing scarlet optics was dazzling when it was in such close proximity, and still he did not allow them to dim. Perceptor felt the niggling feeling of worry start gnawing at his spark again.

"Starscream?" He spoke against his mate's lips, getting but a grunt in acknowledgement, "Is there... is there something wrong with your eyes?"

"My eyes?" Questioned the Decepticon dully, listlessly, narrowing his optics. "No."

"You won't mind me taking a look?"

Starscream's lip curled in disgust as Perceptor reached towards his face questioningly, speaking before the fingers even laid upon the metal of his visage. "Get your hands off me."

"They're brighter than they should be," pressed the microscope, stubborn in his concern as he shifted on Starscream's lap to get a closer look, "that's hardly energon efficient, you're wasting your power. Is it a glitch?"

Pulling his head back with a sneer, Starscream jerked to the side a tad, no longer able to quite meet his mate's gaze. "I said it's nothing!"

"I don't believe that for a moment." Murmured the milder robot, tilting his head. "I understand if you don't want to talk to me – but please don't take me for a fool and tell me there's no problem when really there is. I'm not stupid."

"Fragging me off is about as stupid as you can get,_ Autobot_." Sneered the Decepticon warrior haughtily, which in turn coaxed a weak smile from his mate. Seeing that, a strange and bitter taste contaminated the seeker's mouth, and he bared his teeth a little at the unwelcome sensation of guilt, turning away at the same time as allowing himself to be more open. "Whatever, Megatron tore my old optic panels off a little while back as a punishment, that's what's wrong with them."

"He _tore out_ your -!?"

"What are you whining about?" Demanded the lieutenant coarsely, cutting across the disbelieving exclamation, his high voice grating and shrill, "I've had worse before and I'll probably have worse again, I don't need your pity!"

But Perceptor seemed horrified at the idea. "Why do you let Megatron attack you like that? Surely you can do better for yourself than being his – his _slave_?"

"Slave?" At first the tone was surely disbelief, but then a crazed smile overtook the jet's dark lips, a screech of hilarity falling from his vocaliser in a ferocious bout of unhinged laughter. "_Slave_!? That's what you think I am?" With no warning, one of the blue hands closed tightly about Perceptor's white neck, the light humour gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a terrifying glare. "Listen to me, _fool_."

Caught somewhere between fear at his erratic and unpredictable mate, a deep-rooted fear that would probably never fade, and concern for the still-sparking torso injury on the red fuselage, the Autobot scientist put up no struggle, not even thinking to protest at the grasp on his throat, silently watching with wide optics as Starscream sneered in his face.

"Pain! That's what we thrive on! That's what it _means_ to be a Decepticon!" The bright red eyes, burning dripping red, were alive with a blood-thirst that was usually only seen in the fury of battle. "It _defines_ us, we take what we must, we give back all we have received and worse! Megatron targets me above all others, that is because _I_ am more of a threat to him than any of his other soldiers! He is _afraid_ of me! So don't you _dare _discredit all that I have achieved by labelling me as a victim, I don't need your pathetic Autobot sentiments!"

And the red-bodied microscope averted his gaze as Starscream snarled up at the sky; how obvious it was, at times like this, that the difference between Autobot and Decepticon was deeper than simply base programming and Megatron's sociopathic indoctrination. For Starscream, at least, violence was an integral part of merely existing, a core component of his being. It was... not easy to understand, especially for a pacifist. It was frightening.

"I hate Megatron." The jet was carrying on speaking, staring up at the clouds in Earth's sky with a ferocious expression on his grey face. "He is a short-sighted, blinkered moron incapable of ever being able to win this war – but if he were too weak to use violence as discipline, he would just be a coward."

Starscream's cobalt hand fell from Perceptor's neck, leaving the microscope shaken and speechless – though he had no time to gather his wits, as his vicious mate lowered his dark mouth to the nape of the white throat, the abused metal his hand had just held, and nuzzled, teasing over soft and pliable plating with his teeth in a way that was simultaneously both soothing and arousing.

And the Decepticon warrior raised his fingers, caressing over a light cheek, over the ridged seams, tilting Perceptor's head around gently as he pulled his own back to steal a kiss. His spare arm curled around the microscope's chest, pulling him closer, holding him tight.

After the psychotic outburst, the tenderness was unexpected but not unwelcome - but seeing the expression of peace over the air commander's grey face, no hint of the lust for death that had been there but a klik prior, Perceptor was inclined to agree with the popular theory that his mate really _was_ three diodes short of a logic circuit.

Yet he could still manage these moments of relative normalcy, or at least what an Autobot considered as normal. Perhaps_ that _was why Perceptor liked these times of spark-sharing rather than spark-bonding – because, when Starscream could reign in his personality and speak almost as an Autobot spoke and touch as would a _real_ lover, without dark desire or power-hungry raving, it seemed as though there was no war at all.

"Megatron is a fool." Hissed the jet against Perceptor's throat, the venomous hatred in the voice somehow managing to soothe the microscope from his nervousness. Recognising the tone as meaning Starscream was about to elaborate on whatever was bothering him, the smaller robot hesitantly began to pet the dark head, smiling a little when there was not even a flinch. "Why does he still linger on this planet!? It's of no strategic importance, it's far from home and the indigenous species are technologically impaired! Destroy it! He should withdraw his troops and blow this Primus-forsaken place up. Siphon the energon from the explosion and be rid of the Autobots and the humans in one blast – but he still fights for this _rock_, and the Decepticons _still_ follow him! They're all blind!"

Once again, Perceptor understood why Prime so often expressed his thanks that Megatron did not listen to the advice of his sub-commanders. Keeping up his soothing pets, he murmured a response. "You know, Starscream, you can be quite frightening at times..."

"Henh," a small sneer, "you think so?" Perceptor found his spare hand caught up and held tightly in one of Starscream's blue, their fingers interlocking. "You know I'd take _you _with me."

Ahh, _there_ it was, the disguised acknowledgement that Starscream thought of Perceptor as more than just an item, hidden in swathes of the jet's usual arrogance. In gratitude for the sentiment, the scientist kissed the seam of the seeker's dark cheek, more than happy to allow his body to be cherished by one of his people's greatest foes as his meek personality proved, time and again, a sheaf for the blade of Starscream's wit.

O

"How are you feeling?"

"Mmm... better. There's an ache around the periphery of the spark chamber, but I suppose that's just - ?"

"Yes, that's the new circuits acclimatising. If it's still sore after a groon or so, tell me about it, there's still a chance that your systems will reject them as aliens."

"A high percentage?"

"Not particularly, perhaps five or six at most, but we can't be too careful what with the proximity to your laser core."

Skyfire smiled as he pushed himself carefully into a sitting position, glancing down with a scrutinising optic at the space on his chest where the wound had been and silently praising the Autobot medical team for their expertise. There was only a small groove to show where vital surgery had taken place, and only flaking in the white paint of his fuselage to show where the blast had entered at all.

"Thanks Hoist." He nodded at the tow-truck, who had been tapping away worriedly at his medical workbench when the shuttle came round.

"Prime wants a report on your situation, Skyfire," waving a hand airily at the gratitude, the stand-in medic continued businesslike, expression visibly taught even with his faceplate, "if the Ark is being monitored, it may prove to be a problem, especially as far as surgical resources are -"

"Oh, don't worry." Skyfire leaned back against the head of the berth, ignoring a slight twinge in the area of his recovering wound. "The Ark's not being watched. Astrotrain got me – he was entering the Earth's troposphere just as I was close to leaving it and he came in directly above me, shot me through before I could work out whether the shuttle was human or hostile. It was just a lucky shot, nothing more."

Before Hoist could answer, the airlock door slid open and a red-painted robot strode through, dragging his grey feet slightly as though tired.

"Any change, Hoi – oh!" Perceptor stopped as a realised that Skyfire was conscious and watching him, a few moments of uncertainty passing before a relieved smile crossed his face. "Oh, Skyfire, you're awake! Thank Primus!"

"Thanks Perceptor, where have you been?" Hoist questioned neutrally, gathering himself up and heading towards the threshold of the medical bay.

"Oh, I – sorry I'm late, I was – I was deep in recharge." The microscope nipped at his lower lip, gazing somewhere to the right of Hoist's head, but the green Autobot did not seem to realise the lie as he nodded in understanding.

"Never mind. There's aching where the new circuits have been installed but that shouldn't last more than a groon."

"Right, I understand. Go and get some sleep."

Without another word, Hoist left the surgery, Perceptor now alone with the conscious Skyfire. Turning back from the door, the microscope was not surprised at the expression of suspicion on the usually-benevolent white face.

"Deep recharge?" Skyfire asked, his kind voice carefully blank. "You still look pretty tired, though. Been suffering from insomnia again?

"Skyfire -"

"You were with Starscream, weren't you?" Though it was an accusation, it was still devoid of all emotion, as though Skyfire were hoping to be proven wrong.

Perceptor sighed, supposing it was unavoidable. "Yes, I _was_. I don't apologise for that. I regret having to lie, but if anyone -- well, you know why I don't want people to know. But Skyfire -" He cut across as the shuttle opened his mouth in what must have been protest, "was it Starscream that attacked you? I – he told me it wasn't, but I can't trust his word for it..."

With a shake of his great white head, the researcher relaxed back in recline. "No. Astrotrain got lucky."

Though the microscope said nothing, the unadulterated relief on his expressive and honest face spoke volumes. Skyfire tilted his head as he continued to survey his smaller friend. "I still don't like this, it's too much of a security breach to be kept a secret. Prime should be informed..."

The red-bodied scientist moved over to the computer terminal that Hoist had been working at, reading absently through the notes made by the medical team on Skyfire's recovery. "I'm very grateful that you haven't told anyone, but do what you must. I'm not going to stop seeing him. I know full well what I've gotten myself into and I know where I'm needed – but I made a promise, and I'm going to _keep_ it. I've found where I belong."

A long and awkward silence dragged on. Perceptor filled it not by speaking, as he would usually, but by beginning to take medical measurements from the patient even though Hoist had already seen to that. For a klik or two past the comfort range, Skyfire's expression was stern before it unexpectedly creased in good-natured resignation. He knew intimately well how a mech could be seduced by the Decepticon jet. "I... I'll trust your judgement for now, you're far from stupid."

"Thank you Skyfire." Perceptor smiled as he took a reading of the pressure in the shuttle's main arterial energon vessels. "That means a lot to me. You're a good friend."

"Then don't make me regret that, hmm?"

The tautness in the air, the strenuous and awkward aura between the two friends, seemed to have subsided, and Perceptor went about his duty as a doctor with all his usual zeal and enthusiasm, chatting with Skyfire while he watched the shuttle's statistics with a wary optic, both of them immersed in science as though the whole mess with the Decepticon lieutenant had been entirely forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10

**Salvation**

**Chapter 10**

This was no longer tolerable. Starscream – or, more accurately, Starscream's _fascination_ with that Autobot – was becoming a liability, a chink in the well-tended armour of Decepticon security. 

More disconcertingly, punishment was not dissuading Starscream from carrying on with his blatant flouting of protocol. Usually a retribution as severe as those Megatron had been visiting upon his deviant officer would have cowed him for orns, maybe even deca-cycles – but not this time. Perversely, rather, if anything, the harsh beatings seemed only to drive him out _more_.

Starscream was a fool if he thought Megatron had not noticed his frequent leaving of the Nemesis. He was a fool if he thought his master was blind to such – what sort of leader would the gun-transformer be if he was not aware of _every _time his docking bay was raised without permission, of _every_ time one of his soldiers left without orders to do so? Megatron was far from stupid.

Of course, Starscream could just have been leaving the sunken starship to have some time to himself and think, as he had always succumbed to occasional near-bipolar extremes of mood, but that was highly unlikely. For one thing, the jet _despised_ this planet for reasons that he would not elaborate and longed for Cybertron so feverishly and so openly that his want for home was almost a tangible matter in the air. And if that alone did not throw suspicion on his long absences, the way he had reacted to Megatron's threatening to obliterate the red-bodied microscope had been... most telling.

No, there was no doubt in the tyrant's mind that his lieutenant had been sneaking away to carry on an affair with an Autobot, and, the more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed to be, as Starscream had claimed, a way of cheating information from the enemy. After all, Starscream had continued it despite Megatron's express forbidding of such activity, and his desire to be useful as a spy could not logically extend to his willingness to risk his own neck – and that meant it was a personal attachment. It had to _stop_.

As simple and effective a solution as it was, and for all the ill feelings he harboured towards his commander of the seekers, Megatron was loathe to have him executed for the sole reason that Starscream was good at what he did. Seldom did one find a warrior who hated life as Starscream did, who was so eager to destroy, who flew with such grace and who fought with such skill, who was so wonderfully intelligent and could actually make suggestions worth listening to every once in a while.

Granted, his arrogance and his power-lust were personality flaws that Megatron would prefer to have ironed out with his cruel indoctrinations into the ranks of the Decepticon elite, but Starscream had clung to his personality, refusing to become a mindless and obedient drone with such resolve that it had driven him to near-insanity. It had left him a wild-card warrior, a bestial force predictable in some ways but unfathomable in others – such as apparently being willing to risk his health to keep seeing a pet from the enemy faction.

But his erratic behaviour and his insatiable longing to wipe the blemish of the Autobot army from the face of the universe made him a dangerous warrior, when he was not foolishly acting upon his designs for leadership. An officer of Starscream's calibre was not easily replaceable. 

Megatron did not want to kill him – not yet. However, undeniably, the security breach of Starscream meeting and doing Primus-knew-what with the Autobot scientist _had_ to stop, and sooner rather than later. If word ever got out that the feared Decepticon commander-in-chief had turned a blind eye to such a thing for so long -

Perceptor. That was the scientist's designation, if his memory was not failing him. Perceptor had to be gotten rid of. 

Already the inkling of a strategy formulated within the sharp and dark mind of the silver-bodied warlord, who glared unseeingly at a blackened computer screen as he worked through possibilities in his processor. Starscream _had_ to be communicating with the Autobot somehow, otherwise there could be no way they would know where and when to be.

How they were communicating was irrelevant other than that it had to be some sort of private amplified electromagnetic connection. Such a thing was not impossible, as Hook had demonstrated by designing and building those small communicators over a stellar cycle ago. Starscream was not an idiot, despite his frequent attempts to prove otherwise; he could very well have created something based upon the devices that Megatron had forced on him, if he hadn't just recycled the components that his lord had discarded. It made perfect sense.

While he could have wasted time trying to guess the frequency on which these hypothetical private messages were being broadcast, Megatron decided against it instantly. He had the resources at his disposal and it would have been foolish not to exploit them.

"Soundwave." He snapped out in the knowledge that his inscrutable officer was never too far away. Though he was probably one of the more loyal of his warriors, Soundwave could not be trusted as far as he could be thrown – his silence and his relentless gathering of potential blackmail was worrisome at the same time as it was useful. That he was a telepath, even more so.

Predictably, Soundwave appeared without a word next to the silver-bodied warlord. Megatron turned to survey him thoughtfully. 

"Where is Starscream?" He asked. If Soundwave was at all surprised by the question, he did not show it, merely inclining his head a slight to the left.

"He is in the bridge, Megatron." The response was curt and monotonous, to the point. Megatron liked that about Soundwave – he never minced his words, never wasted time.

" Monitor him. I want to be notified the instant he becomes aware of any coordinates, understand? Deliver them to me _instantly_. Dispatch Frenzy to watch over the docking bay controls. I want no one leaving unless I am notifie d first, understand? Oh, and as soon as you have numbers for me, I want a complete block on all radio frequencies in and out of the Nemesis."

With but a nod, Soundwave had released the cassette Frenzy from his chest and both had left Megatron's presence to carry out their orders. Megatron idly ran his fingers along the black bulk of his fusion cannon, anticipating murder.

O

Soundwave returned with coordinates much sooner than Megatron had anticipated; Starscream had been in a foul mood on the bridge, snapping rude remarks and arrogantly dismissing his comrades, and apparently, according to the telepathic communications officer, leaving had been at the forefront of the jet's mind. It hadn't been hard to extract coordinates.

Megatron smirked savagely, dismissing his lieutenant and standing easily in the corridor that connected the bridge with the control room in which the computer terminal to raise the docking tower was housed, laying in wait for his wayward officer.

As expected, Starscream was not long in striding towards him, the expression on his grey face taut and preoccupied, his step showing purpose and determination. At first it seemed that he had not even noticed Megatron ready to stop him, but then his red optics narrowed and the finest visualisation of hatred flickered over his mouth.

"Where do you think you're going?" The warlord asked coldly, placing a foot out in the path of his advancing subordinate to obstruct his way. Starscream sneered and kicked at his master's leg irately.

"Get out of my way." He spat, pushing the larger mech aside.

Despite his assertion that Starscream was neither stupid _nor_ suicidal, Megatron had to admit to himself that the unguarded and fleeting surprise on the grey face as a dark hand closed about his throat and slammed him into the wall was out of place. Starscream surely knew by now that provoking his lord would only result in retribution.

"You will abandon whatever foolish venture you are currently embarking upon _immediately,_" commanded the Decepticon overlord, his voice like ice. "You will return to my command bridge. You will write up a report documenting all recent activity."

"But -"

"_Now_, Starscream!"

Even faced with Megatron's fusion cannon, Starscream wrest himself away from the grip on his throat, breaking free from his commander's grip and tensing as though ready for a fight. He stared at his master's merciless red optics, and he saw no fear there. "I'm _busy_, Megatron! Get somebody else to do your paperwork!"

The tyrant allowed himself a humourless smirk; it was a sign of quite how far this fraternising with an Autobot had gone that Starscream was disobeying him so openly for the chance to reach a rendezvous. Casually, and without a second thought, he shot at one of Starscream's shoulder vents, purposefully missing a critical blow, though the heat from the powerful beam still singed the red paintwork. Starscream winced and fell back, snarling.

"Do not make me order you again," he warned, twitching the innate weapon slightly so that it pointed directly at the seeker's grey head. 

It was interesting to see the extent of emotions that displayed on Starscream's dark visage whenever Megatron defeated him; each time, the warlord could swear to himself that his subordinate would end up overloading his neural nets purely because it should have been impossible for anyone to go through so many feelings so quickly – hate, rage, terror, humiliation, rebellious insolence...

With bad grace, Starscream sneered – a gesture to silently convey his lust for Megatron's head – and disappeared back down the corridor the way he had come.

And Megatron's face remained unreadable, betraying nothing of the sadistic glee coursing through his circuits, a result of the anticipation of rending living metal mixing with the mirth that he had, without even too much in the way of threats, forced his cheekily disagreeable lieutenant to do a useless, pointless task that was nothing more than a waste of his time...

Now, then. What with Starscream indisposed and unable to communicate that to his Autobot pet, Megatron had laid down his trap. The silver-bodied gun transformer allowed himself a feral, bestial grin, a flick of his glossa over smooth lips as though to wipe away energon that was not yet spattered there. Oh, this would be _fun_.

O

Although the day had started out so fine, the sun blazing down and warming the panels of his exostructure pleasantly, the skies had become consistently more overcast with heavy clouds the closer Perceptor got to his destination. He felt sure that, any moment, the heavens would open (as the humans so eloquently phrased it) and the rain would hammer down a steady rhythm on his chassis.

Unexpectedly, Starscream was not already present when he reached the hidden lakeside beach, with its multitude of caves and crevices against the small cliffs. This came as somewhat of a surprise, as the seeker was exceedingly fast when he had a mind to be so, reaching supersonic speeds in seconds, and could easily have made two runs between the meeting point and the sunken Decepticon starship before Perceptor was even halfway there. Microscopes, notably, were not built for their speed.

Perceptor was not overly worried about this, however; he had heard nothing through the communication device hidden away in the matrices of his chest, and, going from the last time that Starscream had been in any serious danger, he would surely have been contacted if there was anything so direly wrong.

More likely that Starscream had grown bored of waiting and was visiting destruction on some unfortunate life somewhere nearby. He would saunter towards Perceptor soon enough, reeking of the stench of charred flesh.

Instead, Perceptor leaned back at ease against the cliff face, which petered to a grassy edge and a deciduous spinney not far above his head, and stared down at the sand at the water's edge, where the waves licked gently. That Starscream had settled for such a place to meet spoke volumes – neither partner was partial to coupling in sandy environments, as the rock grains had the annoying quality of penetrating almost every join in the plating, grinding uncomfortably against inner workings, itching and scraping, and sand was almost impossible to clean away. It got _everywhere_.

Which meant that it was unlikely Starscream was in a mood for sex, and _that _meant that his temper was dire and foul, for it was only very rarely that he would forsake a chance to trace his fingers and ghost his lips over the quivering, unresisting red body of his Autobot mate.

There was a whirring, a faint but nevertheless distinct humming of turbines winding down after exertion; the exact noise that Decepticon flight systems made as their users landed. Almost imperceptibly, Perceptor brightened up, shaken out of his considerations at the promise of company, taking a few expectant steps towards the source of the noise, waiting to see Starscream appear. If only he had paid attention to detail, he would have noticed that the tread of the newcomer's approaching footfalls was that much heavier than his mate's...

"Starscream?" He ventured hopefully, straining his neck up to catch a glint of silver moving amongst the trees. There was no response; the sliver of metal was gone as soon as he had seen it, so fleeting he questioned if it had been there at all.

Sand crunched behind him. He turned. Silver filled his vision.

A sweeping strike, far more powerful than anything Starscream could ever manage, knocked him from his feet and upset his balance stabilisers, sending him careening to the floor with swirling perception. Shock chilling his circuits, the scientist stared up at his assailant, and felt his spark grow cold with terror -

Megatron. _Here_.

Primus – it couldn't be possible – how could _Megatron_ have - 

And from the look on that merciless face, from the drunken homicidal glint in the heartless blazing optics, the Decepticon overlord's intention was murder. When Megatron wanted blood spilled, people _died_. Survival? He didn't have a hope...

Perceptor threw himself to his feet, tumbling head-first out of the line of fire of Megatron's fusion cannon as it was aimed at him, feeling the heat as the blast caught his side, the acrid smell of burning alloy assaulting his olfactory sensors. It was only his quick analysis of the gun-transformer's intentions that saved him, for his body was not built for bursts of speed, and his enemy could easily out-manoeuvre him. He felt the fear clawing at him, icy and all-consuming; he was no match for Megatron.

Unlike his most dangerous foe, he was not designed for speed, nor was he programmed to fight. As a scientist, not tailored for war, he was not even really built to survive. Adrenal chemicals coursed through his energon vessels, lending some scant hope to his reflexes, but it still was not enough to guarantee his escaping.

There was a large rock that joined the cliff base with the beach, and the microscope somehow managed to get himself behind it, hiding from his tormentor. He stared desperately at the sky, as though help would come from above, but there was none. Gruff laughter sounded, Megatron voicing his enjoyment at the Autobot's helplessness.

Shivers wracked his chassis, though the logical part of his mind questioned his fear – why was he so scared? Death happened to everyone sooner or later, it was integral part of life... but that didn't mean that he wanted it to happen to him, and that didn't mean that he was unafraid, despite that he desperately did not want to be considered a coward. What living being was there that did not dread termination? And Megatron, Megatron's cruelty was unmatched. Perceptor knew this. He knew it well, harsh lessons scarred into his exostructure.

A purple beam passed over the crest of the boulder he had taken refuge behind. He hid his head in his arms and begged to Primus for deliverance.

He could call for help, he _should_ call for help, he could request back-up from the Ark or, or Starscream, yes, he should get Starscream, Starscream would save him –

No. Starscream was no match for Megatron either. No matter what the jet said about his master fearing him, Perceptor knew that to be just posing. Starscream had the advantage when it came to agility and guile, but for stamina and raw power, Megatron could not be bested. And the Autobots – the only one of them who could possibly stand against the warlord for any amount of time was Optimus Prime himself, and, frankly, Prime had better things to be doing than chasing after a single scientist.

Perceptor nipped at his lip, worrying it unshakeably as he stared down at his trembling hands, unable to keep them still. He was really going to die here, wasn't he? 

Then the very least he could do would be to die _well_. To make the Autobots proud that he was one of them. Hopefully to leave his mark on Megatron, the instigator of all his troubles. To get revenge for everything that had gone wrong...

But he'd never wanted revenge, not even after what Megatron had forced Starscream to do to him. The thought had never crossed his mind, not while he was imprisoned, not while he was semi-conscious in the desert, not while he was recovering his confidence amongst friends in the Ark. Leave vengeance to those who were violent and warlike – he was content to forget (or at least try to forget) and to move on. So he always had been.

"Come out, come out, little Autobot," taunted the tyrant, taking slow steps forward to prolong the rising terror in his victim. Perceptor hardened his resolve, pushed aside his dread – he'd had enough of being made into a toy.

Diverting all power he could to the light cannon on his shoulder, the red-bodied microscope hurled himself from behind the rock. The shot across Megatron's flank caught the silver tyrant by surprise, charring a nasty wound into his left biceps plating.

While he was fleetingly proud of his managing to injure the most powerful of all the Autobots' enemies, he knew that the likelihood of managing to summon the power for another blast was slim indeed; Megatron towered over him, ire flashing in the place of amusement, the desire to prolong the suffering dispersed. Cold ruthlessness personified, powerful and efficient – that was Megatron. Perceptor stared up at death's avatar, paralysed in a terrified, fascinated awe. His mind screamed at him to get away. His body stiffened, the pistons locking and refusing to move.

"You are a liability." Hissed the warlord, the fusion cannon raising to aim at the scientist's vulnerable body. Perceptor tried to scrabble away, but was halted when a light-coloured foot slammed down on his thigh, crushing it into the floor. Despite Starscream's conditioning, Perceptor found himself howling out – the jet was nothing, _nothing_ compared to his master.

A black hand closed around his throat, hauling him upright, and his wide azure optics stared into the bottomless scarlet eyes of his oppressor. He felt the dull impact as the blunt barrel of Megatron's cannon thudded into his torso, he felt the heat as it gathered energy for a killing discharge.

Was this choking, paralysing terror the same that Starscream felt every time Megatron felt need to discipline his air commander? This all-consuming feeling of worthlessness, of defeat, of longing for mercy and seeing no such privilege offered - 

The fusion beam passed straight through his stomach, disintegrating wires and controls. The pain was intense, fiery and unbearable. His conscious dwindled, and Megatron's savage grin filled his narrowing scope of vision as the warlord threw his unresponsive chassis to the floor.

O

Starscream landed, kicking at the cliff face in bad temper; Megatron's task of writing up reports had been nothing but a waste of time, grating on his nerves and preventing him from chasing more pleasurable pastimes. What's more, Perceptor hadn't responded to _any_ of his broadcasts. He was almost a cycle and a half late for his scheduled meeting with his Autobot, and he hadn't heard a single request about his well-being. He would have to teach his microscope to be more..._ attentive_.

"Where are you?" He growled out, tossing his head this way and that as the wind picked up, blowing the droplets of water into his optics. He hated the rain, and he wanted nothing more than to be inside somewhere, out of the torrential shower. The sooner Perceptor stopped playing about, the sooner he could be out of this unpleasant sensation as water dripped from his nose. "Come out! I'm not in the mood for your fragging about!"

Something hard and metallic clinked off his foot, and he looked down to see what he had just stumbled over. Faded grey optics, the once-azure glow dimmed to nothing, stared back up at him sightlessly. Perceptor's mouth hung open in a sort of frozen terror, but he was unmoving – the huge and ugly gaping hole through his torso was the likely reason for that.

For a horrified klik that dragged on, Starscream stared down at his partner's body in disbelief, unable to process what he was seeing; it was as though the neural relay to his cerebral circuitry had been cut, for he saw the grisly sight but could not piece together what it was he was seeing. Then, as though galvanised back to life, all visual data suddenly making sense in a fell and sickening swoop, he jerked his leg to kick the microscope's side.

"Get up!" He commanded, accompanying the order with another kick. At the lack of response, he tried again, another kick, another curt command, though his voice higher and raspier, tinged with hysteria. "Get up!"

Panic welled in his stomach at the continued lack of response. Perceptor couldn't be dead – there'd been no tearing pain in his spark, there'd been no feeling at all. Perceptor couldn't be dead, he told himself despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.

"_Get up_!" It was almost a scream, so high in pitch and loud in volume, punctuated by another worthless kick to the splintered metal of his lover's side. No response. 

The rain beat an uneven pattern against the metal of his fuselage. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Salvation**

**Chapter 11**

The amount of time between the regain of consciousness and the return of awareness was uncertain. Perceptor did not know whether it was for short astroseconds or dragging groons that he lay in a vegetative state, staring without seeing at the surgery ceiling; his chronometer, disintegrated in his chest, had not been replaced.

A strange tingle started in his legs and lower abdominal plating, as though they were receiving power after a long period of deactivation. The sensation was irritating, akin to an itch, but distant; though he could feel it, he did not recognise it as an ailment to his own body, nor was he quite able to process anything – as though he was trying to remember something but could not quite bring it to mind. Just as he could not quite manage to remember how to work his limbs.

As the circuitry of his cerebral cortex slotted back into place to link to his meta-processors, Perceptor became very aware in an instant. Nerve impulses from his body suddenly reached his brain, delivering both touch and pain from the sensory inputs in his extremities. Onlining was not a pleasant experience, perhaps he should consider developing some sort of treatment to combat the aches...

Wait a nanoklik. Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

The red-bodied scientist sat bolt upright, seeing in his periphery vision a white mech – Ratchet, he verified after a second glance – take a step back in surprise. Drip wires fell from his torso and tray, the energon feed in his upper forearm disconnecting at the violent movement and spraying droplets of viscous purple liquid over his side.

Shaking off the initial dizziness, the microscope gaped foolishly at the medic, who was already starting forward to reconnect the discarded feed wires. Though conscious of his own blank gawking and what a gormless idiot it must have made him seem, Perceptor could not think how he could have been delivered from falling at Megatron's hands to the safety of his own people, not when he had been so out of the way and had not put out a distress call.

"I'm alive?" He managed, surprised to find that his voice was just as he remembered it, not damaged or raspy in any way. Ratchet gave him a quizzical look before smiling sardonically.

"I can see why you're said to be one of Cybertron's most intelligent," he mocked gently, "can't put anything past you. Perceptive as ever, hmm? Yes, you're alive."

"B-but – _how_? I -" Perceptor cut himself off, confused. He wasn't upset that he was still functional, far from it; the thought of death repelled him as much as it would any rational living being with the instinct for survival, and he was _glad_ that he had been given another chance. On the other hand, his position had seemed hopeless; Megatron had shot him through, watched him fall. Warriors as powerful as the Decepticon commander did not make mistakes – and Megatron had certainly been aiming for his termination.

"We got your distress signal, and Skyfire got there just in time to stop Starscream from killing you." Came the distracted answer, Ratchet waving a dismissive red hand as he checked over the other Autobot's reconstructed midriff.

"Distress signal?" Questioned the patient, utterly nonplussed. He hadn't sent out – he'd deliberately _avoided_ sending out - "_Starscream_?"

Another quizzical look from Ratchet. "Your memory databank chips aren't damaged, are they?"

"Probably just glitching until they settle back into place..."

A shrug as Ratchet accepted the reasoning. "Well, Skyfire reported that you'd been shot down by Starscream, you'd put out a distress signal, he reached you just in time." A shrug. "It's quite miraculous, really. Screamer was really aimin' to kill, but, though the laser core was damaged, your spark wasn't harmed at all. Primus must watch over you."

"And Skyfire?" He found himself asking, trying to make sense of it in his head. Facts didn't add up. Starscream? He hadn't even _been_ there to kill him...

"No damage. Screamer flew off at the first sign of danger, just like the coward he is. Flex your fingers for me."

Perceptor acquiesced, watching in silence as Ratchet adjusted a transistor in the complex behind his examination tray and removed the feed vessels that had been supplying him with vital energon. It took but a moment, then the ambulance-transformer was standing back and brushing his hands together in accomplishment.

"Well, I reckon you're all set. No strenuous activity, though, you need to let the new body acclimatise and fully reconnect to your neural nets. So try to avoid anything that'll put unnecessary stress on you. Come tell me if you lose function in any of your circuits, but there may be partial paralysis while the motor relays connect."

"Th-thanks Ratchet..." murmured the microscope, completely overwhelmed and trying to find the correlation between the last memories he had of being attacked and the situation Ratchet had just told him of. His head felt as though the diodes would melt.

Thankfully, his cogitation was interrupted when the door to the medical bay opened, revealing the tall, white figure of Skyfire standing there, his honest and kind face creased with worry. Taking a step in, the Cybertronian shuttle saw that Perceptor was sitting up, and the concern dissipated, melting tentatively into a small smile of relief.

"Ratchet," the large Autobot spoke quietly, nodding at the recovering microscope, "could I have a moment alone with Perceptor? I need to have a word."

"Sure." grunted Ratchet with a shrug, tidying away a small number of devices from the work surface and examining a surgical laser with exaggerated interest. "Nice to have me a chance to refuel, I haven't energised since you brought him in. Give me a call when you're done."

As Ratchet slid out of the surgery, Perceptor felt the cold vice of apprehension grasp at his core; he fully expected Skyfire to start lecturing him about safety and security, to have the shuttle start with '_What were you thinking..._' or, even worse, '_I told you this was a bad idea..._'

So it came as a mild but pleasant surprise, then, when Skyfire did not immediately launch into disapproval reprimands. Rather, the shuttle smiled briefly (though somewhat apprehensively, as though he himself was not entirely at ease), patted the edge of the berth that Perceptor was reclining on and asked, "may I?"

"Oh!" The microscope drew his knees up to his chest to make room. Ignoring the tingles as newly-connected wires bent in ways they were not yet accustomed to, he reached absently over to the work surface to the side of his sickbed, where his detached microscope shaft and lens lay, and began the meticulous process of refastening it to his shoulder. "Of course, uh..."

Skyfire sat. An uncomfortable silence dragged on, the larger robot staring at his own huge white hands, as though formulating what he was about to say.

"You're very lucky." He stated at last, with a brief smile to his smaller companion, who returned it, though not without nervousness.

"Thank you for – for fetching me -" but Skyfire cut him off by waving a hand. Again, the awkward silence enveloped the two of them, dragging on for some kliks longer than it needed, until finally Skyfire found how to explain.

The huge white shuttle smiled an enigmatic expression. "I picked up your distress call. When I reached you, Starscream was circling you like he usually does with a kill. He flew off when I arrived. Ratchet chalked your wound down to laser shot."

"But -" Again, Skyfire cut Perceptor off before the sentence could be completed, and this time the larger Cybertronian seemed somewhat wistful.

"I.. I shouldn't have doubted you." He murmured quietly, voice subdued.

"What?"

Rather than giving a straight explanation, the huge scientist glanced at his hands and then launched into a medical analysis.

"Carbonisation at the lips of the wound, slow disintegration of partially struck controls, heat warping in the surrounding struts? I don't know if anyone else thought to consider it, but those aren't symptoms of laser damage. Especially the carbonisation, that's a sure sign of _fusion_ damage." Skyfire regarded his smaller companion coolly for a moment, seeing the relief over the white face. "And I know of only one mech with a fusion weapon of that power potential, and that's Megatron, _not_ Starscream."

Perceptor stared, uncharacteristically unable to think of anything to say as Skyfire paused his explanation momentarily, cycling air through his intakes.

"Besides, when I reached you, your emergency power jack was open and online."

"I – It _was_? But I didn't -"

"There'd have been no point for _you _to open it." The shuttle waved an impatient hand and gave Perceptor a knowing look. "Someone else supplied you with enough energy to keep you alive. You should _thank_ Starscream. He probably saved your life." For a moment, he seemed stern, but then the expression melted into gentle encouragement. "And from what I remember, Starscream doesn't risk his own well-being for others unless he's _very_ fond of them. So I'm sorry for doubting you."

"Wha – Starscream _saved_ me?" Perceptor stared at nothing, dumbfounded, unable even to acknowledge his friend's apology. The words 'Starscream' and 'hero' did not connect together in his mind, especially not in the same sentence.

Skyfire seemed astonished at the unbridled shock apparent in Perceptor's tone at the exclaimed question, as though he could not quite understand why the fact would be so hard to accept. "Does that surprise you?"

"Well, yes." Perceptor stared down at his lap, wondering at his mate's affection. Despite the tenderness that the jet occasionally showed, the red-bodied microscope had been sure that his... lust? desire?... _feelings_ for his warlike lover had been one-sided. "Starscream... does not process as normal people do, I... I would not have expected him to..."

Cutting his own sentence short, puzzlement flashing over his expressive white face, the microscope stared blankly at the plating of Skyfire's thigh as the shuttle in turn stared at the surgery door. Moments later, the latter noticed the slow smile spreading across Perceptor's face, and he tilted his head in an unspoken question.

"You know," the microscope spoke obligingly, more to fill in the dragging silence than to explain himself, his voice aching with relief "I'm so... I'm _happy_. If you hadn't told me what you just did, I would have sworn that this was all unrequited."

Even after several instances trying to compute, Skyfire still could not understand such an impersonal approach to something he had always regarded as intimate. "Why would you stay in a relationship like that? I do not understand."

"Who knows," shrugged the smaller Autobot airily; the relief of being alive, the relief that Skyfire knew he was not a traitor, the relief that Starscream cared enough to save his life – it was making him feel almost drunk with a giddy near-ecstasy. He swung his legs around to sit at the edge of the berth, his smile distant and unreadable as he gave a non-committal response, inexplicably feeling like bursting into laughter. "I guess he grew on me."

"I still cannot say that I am... _pleased_ with knowing my close friend is tangled up with a Decepticon, but I will let you alone. I trust you are intelligent enough to make your own decisions."

Touched, the lithe microscope lowered his gaze, expressing his gratitude meekly – but sincere. "Thank you."

Skyfire's reply, if he gave one, was drowned out by the sudden and unexpected clamouring of Starscream through the ethereal connection, which took Perceptor with such surprise that he jerked in fright and almost fell off the berth. Even more shocking than the volume at which the jet was making demands, perhaps, was the raw need in the high voice, conveyed through the connection as a powerful and spark-tugging emotion. The microscope's manic glee dissipated in a matter of astroseconds and melded into concern, especially when he heard where Starscream wanted to meet him.

"Hey... Skyfire?" He asked, voice small and uncertain, and he could barely hear himself over Starscream's loud whining. "I feel like taking a – a walk..."

For a moment, Skyfire regarded him critically, pursing his lips in a pensive manner before giving thoughtful acquiescence. "I think that's a good idea, actually. It would be better for the new circuits to be worn in, and Ratchet needs to be told if there's any problems so he can replace them before they latch on to your meta-processors."

"Quite," Perceptor pressed himself to his feet. As he moved to take a step forwards, his weakened limbs betrayed him, causing him to stumble, and had not Skyfire been so quick to rise and steady him, he would have fallen.

Regaining his composure, the red-bodied Autobot thanked his taller companion, gingerly testing his legs before trying forward again. Rebuilt struts and pistons stiff with lack of use caused odd twinges in his waist and pelvic gimbals, but apart from an unusual locking about his knees on his first few steps, there was no real problem with his mobility – for which he was thankful, after such major surgery as having half of his motor net replaced.

Skyfire helped him out of the medical bay and towards the main arterial tunnel into the Ark, supporting him when he needed to lean or pause and reset his equilibrium. The soft metal of his abdomen was tender after the extensive repairs he had undergone, and the new energon vessels not quite yet aligned – he felt frequent fatigue, involuntary spasms racing through neural nets as they onlined again, making him feel frail and unwell.

"Thanks Skyfire." Even his voice was shaky as he expressed his gratitude once they had stopped in the entrance to the crashed starship and he felt the sun warming his exostrucutre.

"Do you need me with you?"

"No, I'll be fine." Perceptor broke away from Skyfire's steady grip and held himself upright, shaking his head – if only to dispel the shuttle's concern.

"Well..." the white Autobot did not sound convinced. "Don't go too far, radio me or Ratchet if anything troubles you."

"I know." He smiled gently and limped away.

O

Kicking at the dust and growling when that only smeared it further on his immaculate paint, circling his position, which was less than twenty vuns from the Autobot space cruiser, Starscream perked up the moment he heard the other robot come closer. Only a slight whir indicated his null rays gathering power – just in case it was not Perceptor but a hostile who approached.

"Starscream!" The jet eased up the slightest bit when he heard his mate's voice. Perceptor appeared in his field of vision just astroseconds later, rigid, looking most displeased. "_Why_ are you so close to the Ark? You fool, it's a wonder you haven't shown up in Red Alert's security net! What are you _thinking_?"

Before he could reprimand the Decepticon any more, Starscream was grasping his chassis tight, dragging him further away from the Autobot headquarters, running insistent fingers over the previously-wounded areas. The fiery red optics, bright as they always were these days, would not meet the blue eyes.

Perceptor could not think of what to say as Starscream explored his repaired injuries with an oddly focused determination; the seeker was acting very strangely, even for one so unpredictable. The microscope swallowed the choked gasp that almost escaped his vocaliser when his bondmate suddenly swept him into a crushing, metal-bending embrace, clutching so tightly as though he thought Perceptor might disappear if he was not anchored down.

Unsure of Starscream's intentions, and with his stomach twinging again, Perceptor did not struggle. Instead, he stayed still and silent, watching Starscream as the larger robot withdrew again. It was only because he was studying so intently that he noticed the smear of silver paint at the corner of the seeker's dark mouth. He reached up to touch it; Starscream swatted his hand away, and the same silver traced the tips of those cobalt fingers.

Forcibly, the jet kissed his mate. It was not long, and when they broke apart again, Perceptor finally could stay silent no longer.

"Starscream?" He prompted, still nervous at the proximity to the Ark, partly expecting an entourage of Autobot warriors to arrive and destroy his mate. The red-eyed warrior slapped his face – but it didn't sting nearly as much as it usually did. Regarding the abused white cheek for a moment, Starscream moved the hand down to again finger over the healing wound.

"Don't you _ever _do that again." He hissed, his high voice hoarse and dangerously forceful. Perceptor did not have to inquire about what the 'that' referred to; the hand firmly caressing his stomach plating told him all he needed to know.

"Look, I'm _fine_, you saved –" he tried quietly, but was silenced when Starscream's burning scarlet eyes met his azure. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was the silent, seething anger behind them.

And then a blue finger, streaked with scraps of silver, prodded him in the chest, around the proximity of his spark chamber. "Why the frag didn't I feel anything?"

Perceptor looked away. "I didn't want you to know."

The jet snarled, as though taking the mumbled excuse as a personal affront. "How _dare_ you keep me in a one-sided bond! You selfish! little! _glitch_!" Growling, he turned and glared off at the horizon, leaving his microscope lover in stunned silence. The afternoon sun caught the red of Starscream's fuselage, outlining it with golden hue as he muttered sullenly. "I deserve better from you."

"I'm sorry." Thoroughly chastised and wretchedly guilty, the microscope raised his grey hands to Starscream, flutters of thrilled hope in his spark when they were caught up and held by the seeker's blue. "I thought – I was worried that you might try to take Megatron on."

Finally, a characteristic smirk flitted across the flier's dark face, wry and twisted. With a sinking feeling, Perceptor realised he knew where the scrapes of silver sullying his mate's perfect paint were from.

"You already attacked Megatron?" He asked quietly, knowing the answer without being told, tensing his hands inside his partner's. Starscream bared his teeth and licked at the smear of silver at the side of his mouth as though savouring the taste.

"I almost had his throat out with my teeth." An insane glint passed through his optics. "How dare he try to take what's mine away from me!"

"How are you still alive?" Questioned the red-bodied microscope in a small voice, astounded – Starscream did not bear a single injury. Surely Megatron had not fallen -?

But Starscream shrugged and snarled and would not answer.

As the silence drew on, Starscream sulkily refusing to speak, Perceptor took the initiative and pressed himself into the crook of his mate's arm, up against the crimson fuselage, tracing a groove in the metal with one finger, thinking (or perhaps imagining) the seeker relaxing beneath the attentions. A sideways glance and a reluctant sneer being the only obvious responses, he tilted his head back to look at the sky and sighed from deep in his spark.

"We can't go on like this." Starscream turned his head sharply, obviously about to protest, but the microscope cut him off. "I don't want to live in fear of being found out, Starscream! All this sneaking around, it feels so much like treachery – this is a _war_."

"You think I'll let you leave me after all this?" Growled the jet warningly.

"Not leave, but let's start over." Imploringly, Perceptor brushed his lips against the side of one pectoral vent. "Megatron is convinced he killed me, correct? And Skyfire has agreed to hold our silence. Then that's a fresh start in each faction. We just need to be more _careful_!"

Starscream seemed content with the contact, no longer obsessively exploring the grievous injuries Megatron had inflicted on his mate. He snorted non-committally.

"I still want to meet up with you," Perceptor was continuing mildly, "because, and I know you don't want me to say this, but I _do_ care about you – and _no_, before you ask me, I don't know why. We need to be discreet. Let's... let's not see each other for a while, just to make sure all the suspicions have died down."

"You must be joking." Sneered the air commander, his lip curling in disgust at this new development.

"_Please_ ."

"And what about _me_!? What about _my_ wants?" A blue hand loosely closed around the white neck, fingertips pressing in small careful circles, belying the demanding words. "If I want you, I _will_ have you. Understand?"

"And when Megatron finds out where you're going again, he'll kill you, or come after me again. I don't want to die, and I don't want you to die." The microscope rested his head back against Starscream's shoulder as the jet wrapped his spare arm around the red waist.

Irritably, the Decepticon spat an ill-tempered agreement. "Keh, it's the only fragging way I'm going to get you to shut up, so whatever!"

Perceptor knew Starscream well enough to not be riled at the offensive and surly tone. With a soft smile, the microscope clung to his bondmate's chassis, revelling in the comfort of the closeness and the warmth of the seeker's body as it was expelled from chuntering vents. He was pulled closer, gently, and kissed on the helm – such softness of action was unexpected from Starscream, who was rough and coarse and unrefined.

... but, as insensitive and self-centred as he was, and as cruel as he could be, it seemed that even Starscream could show compassion. The unadulterated need he had displayed when greeting Perceptor from the Ark could almost be interpreted as a mixture of concern and relief, and the easiness with which he accepted the limitation on their escapades was a pleasant surprise, for Perceptor had expected his argumentative partner to put up much more of a fight.

He smiled. Skyfire was wrong – he wasn't _lucky_, for no one with his history of torture and imprisonment and near-deaths could count themselves as fortunate... but his connection with Starscream had proved to be an unforeseen pleasure.

The future promised to be brighter, and that was all that any mech could hope.

Starscream kissed him irritably. It still felt good.

"Hey. Perceptor, you out here?" A familiar, amiable voice cut through the desert air, and the two partners started.

"Shoo, get out of here. I'll – I'll be in touch..." Whispered the microscope urgently, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily, and, for once in his life, Starscream did not argue – though he did pause to tilt Perceptor's chin up and steal a last parting kiss.

Waiting until the jet was just a speck in the sky, Perceptor called to the other Autobot. "Right here, Wheeljack. Is everything all right?"

The approaching scientist, thankfully, did not notice the fleeing Decepticon; he seemed distracted by whatever was running through his mind. Certainly, his step had the spring of eagerness that appeared whenever he was contemplating developing anything complex and, because Wheeljack was the mech in question, potentially life-threatening.

"I was wondering if you could come help me with the skeletal blueprints for a new project I was thinking of starting?" The engineer said warmly, aural protrusions flashing away neon blue. "I think it might be right up your street."

"Oh?"

Welcoming and kind, Wheeljack lent a shoulder for Perceptor lean on as they started their slow and casual return to the Ark.

"Sure, I got the idea from Cybertron's mechaforming substructure – if you can have a transforming planet, why not an urban state or a battle platform? If it works it'll be a huge advantage against the 'Cons, and it'll keep us busy for quartices!" The excitement was obvious in the masked face, the eyes alive with opportunity.

"An urban transformer? That would dwarf even Omega Supreme! And you've already drawn up the blueprints?"

"Mm, yes! I already worked out the basics, but it'd be a real help if you could help me with them."

"I'd be glad to." Replied Perceptor, feeling the excitement of an intellectual challenge licking at his cerebral circuitry, as he hadn't in too long. Life was back to hectic normalcy at long last.

"Excellent! And once the blueprints are finished, we can begin construction of Scramble City."

The two scientists disappeared into Wheeljack's laboratory, lost in a discussion of the future and the possibilities it held.

* * *

**That's all **for this story, and I'm quite satisfied with how it turned out. It's quite strange to have finished, after it and Until the Dream Ends took over half a year of planning and writing.

Thank you to everyone who has read, everyone who has reviewed, and especially to those who have recommended this story of mine to others or who have met me through this series. Special thanks to **Juujinkan** who has been my beta for Salvation.

I managed to delve a little too deeply into Starscream's character development and wasn't always able to explain my choices. I'll likely be writing a character analysis, and the link will appear (with everything else) on my profile.

Thanks for reading, and I hope I didn't disappoint!


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